THE  RANCHMAN 


CARKINGTON  LAUGHED  JKtRINGLY. 


Page  268 


THE 

RANCHMAN 


BY 

CHARLES  ALDEN  SELTZER 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  BOSS  OF  THE  LAZY  Y, 
FIREBRAND  TREVISON. 
THE  RANGE  BOSS,  ETC. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

P.  V.  E.  IVORY 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co. 
1919 


Published  September,  1919 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  Concerning  Dawes                .     .     >;     .  i 

II  Slick  Duds ;    as     ...  14 

III  The  Serpent  Trail      .     .     .     K     .;     .      .  20 

IV  TheHqld-Up 26 

V  The  Unexpected    .     .     ,     .».»..  36 

VI  A  Man  Makes  Plans 51 

VII  The  Shadow  of  the  Past 59 

yill  Concerning  "  Squint " 66 

IX  A  Man  Lies 75 

X  TheFrame-Up 86 

XI  "  No  Fun  Fooling  Her  " 91 

XII  Lifting  the  Mask 106 

XIII  The  Shadow  of  Trouble 113 

XIV  The  Face  of  a  Fighter      ......  128 

XV  Gloom  —  and  Plans 142 

XVI  A  Man  Becomes  a  Brute      .     .      .      .      .153 

XVII  The  Wrong  Ankle     .      ......  172 

XVIII  The  Beast  Again   ..........  186 

XIX  The  Ambush    .      .      .     .     :.,    :.,     .:    ..     .  193 

XX  A  Fight  to  a  Finish     .      .      .      .:    r.      .      .  200 

XXI  A  Man  Faces  Death   ...     .:     ...  212 

XXII  Looking  for  Trouble  .      .      .      .     „      .      .218 

XXIII  A  World-Old  Longing     .     .     ,-     .     .      .  225 

XXIV  A  Death  Warrant 232 

XXV  Keats  Looks  for  "  Squint "   .     „.     .      .      .  238 

XXVI  Keats  Finds  "  Squint " 245 

XXVII  Besieged 254 


2229456 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

XXXIII 
XXIX 

The  Fugitive   »     .     •»     .     >;    >:    >; 

PAGE 

>:     •   259 

XXX 
XXXI 

Parsons  Has  Human  Instincts    .     . 
A  Rescue     .         

:•:     •   270 
i    277 

XXXII 

Taylor  Becomes  Riled     .... 

-.-      .    284 

XXXIII 

Retribution       ......      .- 

,    2QO 

XXXIV 
XXXV 

The  Will  of  the  Mob  ,;    ..,    ...    K     .; 
Triumph  at  Last  &    >.     •.    a    w    a 

M      f.    304 

w     ..  315 

THE  RANCHMAN 


CHAPTER  I 

CONCERNING  DAWES 

THE  air  in  the  Pullman  was  hot  and,  despite  the 
mechanical  contrivances  built  into  the  coach  to 
prevent  such  a  contingency,  the  dust  from  the  right-of- 
way  persisted  in  filtering  through  crevices. 

Even  the  electric  fans  futilely  combated  the  heat;  their 
droning  hum  bespoke  terrific  revolutions  which  did  not 
materially  lessen  the  discomfort  of  the  occupants  of  the 
coach;  and  the  dry,  dead  dust  of  the  desert,  the  glare  of 
a  white-hot  sun,  the  continuing  panorama  of  waste  land, 
rolling  past  the  car  windows,  afforded  not  one  cool  vista 
to  assuage  the  torture  of  travel. 

For  hours  after  leaving  Kansas  City,  several  of  the 
passengers  had  diligently  gazed  out  of  the  windows.  But 
when  they  had  passed  the  vast  grass  plains  and  had 
entered  the  desert,  where  their  eyes  met  nothing  but 
endless  stretches  of  feathery  alkali  dust,  beds  of  dead 
lava,  and  clumps  of  cacti  with  thorny  spire  and  spatula 
blade  defiantly  upthrust  as  though  in  mockery  of  all 

1 


THE  RANCHMAN 


life — the  passengers  drew  the  shades  and  settled  down 
in  their  seats  to  endure  the  discomfort  of  it  all. 

A  blase  tourist  forward  reclined  in  one  seat  and  rested 
his  legs  on  another.  From  under  the  peak  of  a  cap  pulled 
well  down  over  his  eyes  he  smiled  cynically  at  his  fellow- 
passengers,  noting  the  various  manifestations  of  their 
discomfort.  The  tourist  was  a  transcontinental  traveler 
of  note  and  he  had  few  expectations.  It  amused  him  to 
watch  those  who  had. 

A  girl  of  about  twenty,  seated  midway  in  the  coach 
to  the  left  of  the  tourist,  had  been  an  intent  watcher  of 
the  desert.  With  the  covert  eye  of  the  tourist  upon  her 
she  stiffened,  stared  sharply  out  of  the  window,  then 
drew  back,  shuddering,  a  queer  pallor  on  her  face. 

"  She's  seen  something  unpleasant,"  mused  the  tour 
ist.  "A  heap  of  bleached  bones  —  which  would  be  the 
skeleton  of  a  steer;  or  a  rattlesnake  —  or  most  anything. 
She's  got  nerves." 

One  passenger  in  the  car  had  no  nerves  —  of  that  the 
tourist  was  convinced.  The  tourist  had  observed  him 
closely,  and  the  tourist  was  a  judge  of  men.  The  nerve 
less  one  was  a  young  man  who  sat  in  a  rear  seat  staring 
intently  out  into  the  inferno  of  heat  and  sand,  apparently 
absorbed  in  his  thoughts  and  unaware  of  any  physical 
discomfort. 

"Young  —  about  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight  — 
maybe  thirty,"  mused  the  tourist;  "but  an  old-timer  in 


CONCERNING  DAWES 


this  country.  I  wised  up  to  him  when  he  got  aboard  at 
Kansas  City.  Been  a  miner  in  his  time  —  or  a  cow- 
puncher.  I'd  hate  to  cross  him." 

Among  the  other  passengers  were  two  who  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  tourist.  They  occupied  the  seat  in 
front  of  the  young  man. 

One  of  the  two,  who  sat  nearest  the  window,  was  not 
much  older  than  the  young  man  occupying  the  seat  be 
hind  him.  The  tourist  guessed  his  age  to  be  around 
thirty-five  or  thirty-six.  He  was  big,  almost  massive, 
and  had  lived  well  —  as  the  slightly  corpulent  stomach 
revealed.  Despite  that,  however,  he  was  in  good  physical 
condition,  for  his  cheeks  glowed  with  good  healthy  color 
under  the  blue-black  sheen  of  his  fresh-shaved  beard; 
there  was  a  snapping  twinkle  in  his  black  eyes,  which 
were  penetrating  and  steady ;  and  there  was  a  quiet  con 
fidence  in  his  manner  which  told  that  he  knew  and  appre 
ciated  himself.  He  was  handsome  in  a  heavy,  sensuous 
fashion,  and  his  coal-black  hair,  close-cropped  and  wavy, 
gave  him  an  appearance  of  virility  and  importance  that 
demanded  a  second  look.  The  man  seated  beside  him  was 
undersized  and  ordinary-looking,  with  straight,  iron- 
gray  hair  and  a  look  of  having  taken  orders  all  his  life. 
The  tourist  set  his  age  at  fifty-five. 

The  girl  was  of  the  type  that  the  tourist  admired.  He 
had  seen  her  kind  in  the  far  corners  of  the  world,  on  the 
thronged  streets  of  cosmopolitan  cities,  in  isolated  sec- 


THE  RANCHMAN 


tions  of  the  world  —  the  self-reliant,  quietly  confident 
American  girl  whose  straight-in-the-eye  glance  always 
made  a  man  feel  impelled  to  respectfully  remove  his 
hat. 

She  was  not  beautiful,  but  she  was  undeniably  good- 
looking.  She  was  almost  tall,  and  the  ease  and  grace 
of  her  movements  sufficed  to  convey  to  the  tourist  some 
conception  of  the  symmetrical  lines  of  her  figure.  If  her 
features  had  been  more  regular,  the  girl  would  have 
been  plain;  but  there  was  a  slight  uptilt  to  her  nose  that 
hinted  of  piquancy,  denied  by  the  quiet,  steady  eyes. 

A  brown  mass  of  hair,  which  she  had  twisted  into 
bulging  coils  and  glistening  waves,  made  the  tourist  won 
der  over  her  taste  in  that  feminine  art. 

"  She  knows  what  becomes  her,"  he  decided. 

He  knew  the  two  men  seated  in  front  of  the  young 
man  were  traveling  with  her,  for  he  had  seen  them  to 
gether,  with  the  older  man  patting  her  shoulder  affection 
ately.  But  often  she  left  them  with  their  talk,  which 
did  not  seem  to  interest  her,  while  she  withdrew  to  a 
distant  seat  to  read  or  to  gaze  out  of  the  window. 

She  had  not  seemed  to  notice  either  the  man  of  color 
less  personality  or  the  young  man  who  occupied  the  seat 
behind  her  friends.  If  she  had  glanced  at  them  at  all 
it  was  with  that  impersonal  interest  one  feels  in  the 
average  traveler  one  meets  anywhere. 

But  long  ago  —  which,  to  be  strictly  accurate,  was  when 


CONCERNING  DAWES 


he  had  entered  the  coach  at  Kansas  City  —  Quinton  Tay 
lor  had  been  interested  in  her.  He  was  content,  though, 
to  conceal  that  interest,  and  not  once  when  she  chanced 
to  look  toward  him  did  she  catch  him  looking  at  her. 

Taylor  knew  he  was  no  man  to  excite  the  interest  of 
women,  not  even  when  he  looked  his  best.  And  he  knew 
that  in  his  present  raiment  he  did  not  look  his  best.  He 
was  highly  uncomfortable. 

For  one  thing,  the  white,  starched  collar  he  wore  irri 
tated  him,  choked  him,  reddening  his  face  and  bulging 
his  eyes.  The  starched  shirt  had  a  pernicious  habit  of 
tightly  sticking  to  him,  the  seams  charing  his  skin. 

The  ready-made  suit  he  had  bought  at  Kansas  City 
was  too  small,  and  he  could  feel  his  shoulders  bulging 
through  the  arms  of  the  coat,  while  the  trousers  —  at  the 
hips  and  the  knees  —  were  stretched  until  he  feared  the 
cloth  would  not  stand  the  strain. 

The  shoes  were  tight,  and  the  derby  hat  —  he  glowered 
humorously  at  it  in  the  rack  above  his  head  and  gazed 
longingly  at  the  suitcase  at  his  feet,  into  which  he  had 
crammed  the  clothing  he  had  discarded  and  which  he 
had  replaced  at  the  suggestion  of  his  banker  in  Kansas 
City.  Cowboy  rigging  was  not  uncommon  to  Kansas 
City,  the  banker  had  told  him,  but  still  —  well,  if  a  man 
was  wealthy,  and  wished  to  make  an  impression,  it  might 
be  wise  to  make  the  change. 

Not  in  years  had  Taylor  worn  civilized  clothing,  and 


6 THE  RANCHMAN 

he  was  fully  determined  that  before  reaching  his  home 
town  he  would  resume  the  clothing  to  which  he  was 
accustomed  —  and  throw  the  new  duds  out  of  a  window. 
He  reddened  over  an  imaginary  picture  of  himself  de 
scending  from  the  train  in  his  newly  acquired  rigging  to 
endure  the  humorous  comments  of  his  friends.  Old  Ben 
Mullarky,  for  instance,  would  think  he  had  gone  loco  — 
and  would  tell  him  so.  Yes,  the  new  clothes  were 
doomed;  some  ragged  overland  specimen  of  the  genus 
"hobo"  would  probably  find  them  or,  if  not,  they  would 
clutter  up  the  right-of-way  as  the  sad  memento  of  a 
mistake  he  had  made  during  a  fit  of  momentary  weak 
ness. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  girl  had  noticed  Taylor.  A 
girl  will  notice  men,  unconsciously.  Sitting  at  her  win 
dow  even  now,  she  was  thinking  of  him. 

She  was  not  aware  that  she  had  studied  him,  or  that 
she  had  even  glanced  at  him.  But  despite  her  lack  of 
interest  in  him  she  had  a  picture  of  him  in  mind,  and 
her  thoughts  dwelt  upon  him. 

She,  too,  had  been  aware  that  Taylor's  clothes  did 
not  fit  him.  She  had  noticed  the  bulging  shoulders,  the 
tight  trousers,  the  shoes,  squeaking  with  newness,  when 
once  he  had  passed  through  the  car  to  go  out  upon  the 
platform.  She  had  noticed  him  screwing  his  neck  around 
in  the  collar ;  she  had  seen  him  hunch  his  shoulders  intol 
erantly;  she  had  seen  that  the  trousers  were  too  short; 


CONCERNING  DAWES 


that  he  looked  like  an  awkward  farmer  or  homesteader 
abroad  on  a  pleasure  trip,  and  decidedly  uncomfortable  in 
the  unaccustomed  attire. 

She  had  giggled  to  herself,  then.  For  Taylor  did 
make  a  ridiculous  figure.  But  later  —  when  he  had  re- 
entered  the  car  and  she  had  looked  fairly,  though  swiftly, 
at  him  as  he  advanced  down  the  aisle  —  she  had  seen 
something  about  him  that  had  impressed  her.  And  that 
\vas  what  she  was  thinking  about  now.  It  was  his  face, 
she  believed.  It  was  red  with  self -consciousness  and 
embarrassment,  but  she  had  seen  and  noted  the  strength 
of  it  —  the  lean,  muscular  jaw,  the  square,  projecting 
thin,  the  firm,  well-controlled  mouth;  the  steady,  steel- 
blue  eyes,  the  broad  forehead.  It  had  seemed  to  her  that 
he  was  humorously  aware  of  the  clothes,  but  that  he  was 
grimly  determined  to  brazen  the  thing  out. 

Her  mental  picture  now  gave  her  the  entire  view  of 
Taylor  as  he  had  come  toward  her.  And  she  could  see 
him  in  a  different  environment,  in  cowboy  regalia,  on  a 
horse,  perfectly  at  ease.  He  made  a  heroic  figure.  So 
real  was  the  picture  that  she  caught  herself  saying: 
"  Clothes  do  make  the  man ! "  And  then  she  smiled  at 
her  enthusiasm  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

Taylor  had  been  thinking  of  her  with  the  natural 
curiosity  of  the  man  who  knows  he  has  no  chance  and 
is  not  looking  for  one.  But  she  had  impressed  him  as 
resembling  someone  with  whom  he  had  been  well  ac- 


THE  RANCHMAN 


quainted.  For  an  hour  he  puzzled  his  brain  in  an 
endeavor  to  associate  hers  with  some  face  of  his  recol 
lection,  but  elusive  memory  resisted  his  demands  on  it 
with  the  result  that  he  gave  it  up  and  leaned  back  as 
restfully  as  he  could  w;th  the  consciousness  of  the  physical 
torture  he  was  undergoing. 

And  then  he  heard  the  younger  of  the  two  men  in 
front  of  him  speak  to  the  other: 

"We'll  make  things  hum  in  Dawes,  once  we  get  hold 
of  the  reins." 

"  But  there  will  be  obstacles,  Carrington." 

"Sure!  Obstacles!  Of  course.  That  will  make  the 
thing  all  the  more  enjoyable." 

There  was  a  ring  in  Carrington's  voice  that  struck  a 
chord  of  sudden  antagonism  in  Taylor,  a  note  of  cun 
ning  that  acted  upon  Taylor  instantly,  as  though  the  man 
had  twanged  discord  somewhere  in  his  nature. 

Dawes  was  Taylor's  home ;  he  had  extensive  and  varied 
interests  there;  he  had  been  largely  responsible  for 
Dawes's  growth  and  development;  he  had  fought  for 
the  town  and  the  interests  of  the  town's  citizens  against 
the  aggressions  of  the  railroad  company  and  a  grasping 
land  company  that  had  succeeded  in  clouding  the  titles 
to  every  foot  of  land  owned  by  Dawes's  citizens  —  his 
own  included. 

And  he  had  heard  rumors  of  outside  interests  that 
were  trying  to  gain  a  foothold  in  Dawes.  He  had  paid 


CONCERNING  DAWES 9 

little  attention  to  these  rumors,  for  he  knew  that  capital 
was  always  trying  to  drive  wedges  that  would  admit  it  to 
the  golden  opportunities  afforded  by  new  towns,  and 
he  had  ascribed  the  rumors  to  idle  gossip,  being  aware 
that  such  things  are  talked  of  by  irresponsibles. 

But  the  words,  "  Get  hold  of  the  reins,"  had  a  sound 
of  craft  and  plotting.  And  there  was  something  in  Car- 
rington's  manner  and  appearance  that  suggested  guile 
and  smooth  cunning.  Seething  with  interest,  Taylor 
closed  his  eyes  and  leaned  his  head  back  upon  the  cushion 
behind  him,  simulating  sleep. 

He  felt  Carrington  turn;  he  could  feel  the  man's  eyes 
on  him,  and  he  knew  that  Carrington  was  speculating 
over  him. 

He  heard  the  other  man  whisper,  though  he  could  not 
catch  the  words.  However,  he  heard  Carrington's 
answer : 

"Don't  be  uneasy  —  I'm  not  'spilling'  anything.  He 
wouldn't  know  the  difference  if  I  did.  A"  homesteader 
hitting  town  for  the  first  time  in  a  year,  probably.  Did 
you  notice  him  ?  Lord,  what  an  outfit ! " 

He  laughed  discordantly,  resuming  in  a  whisper  which 
carried  to  Taylor: 

"As  I  was  saying,  we'll  make  things  hum.  The  good 
folks  in  Dawes  don't  know  it,  but  we've  been  framing 
them  for  quite  a  spell  —  been  feeding  them  Danforth. 
You  don't  know  Danforth,  eh?  He's  quite  a  hit  with 


10 THE  RANCHMAN 

these  rubes.  Knows  how  to  smear  the  soft  stuff  over 
them.  He's  what  we  call  a  'mixer'  back  in  Chicago. 
Been  in  Dawes  for  about  a  year,  working  in  the  dark. 
Been  going  strong  during  the  past  few  months.  Running 
for  mayor  now  —  election  is  today.  It'll  be  over  by  the 
time  we  get  there.  He'll  win,  of  course;  he  wired  me  it 
was  a  cinch.  Cost  a  lot,  though,  but  it's  worth  it.  We'll 
own  Dawes  before  we  get  through ! " 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  Taylor  kept  his  eyes  closed. 
He  heard  nothing  further,  for  the  man's  voice  had 
dropped  lower  and  Taylor  could  not  hear  it  above  the 
roar  of  the  train. 

Still,  he  had  heard  enough  to  convince  him  that  Car- 
rington  had  designs  on  the  future  welfare  of  Dawes, 
and  his  muscles  swelled  until  the  tight-fitting  coat  was 
in  dire  danger  of  bursting. 

Danforth  he  knew  slightly.  He  had  always  disliked 
and  distrusted  the  man.  He  remembered  Danforth's  pub 
lic  debut  to  the  people  of  Dawes.  It  had  been  on  the 
occasion  of  Dawes's  first  anniversary  and  some  public- 
spirited  citizens  had  decided  upon  a  celebration.  They 
had  selected  Danforth  as  the  speaker  of  the  day  because 
of  his  eloquence — for  Danforth  had  seized  every  oppor 
tunity  to  publicly  air  his  vigorous  voice,  and  Taylor  had 
been  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  Danforth  was  a 
forceful  and  able  speaker. 

Thereafter,  Danforth's  voice  often  found  the  public 


CONCERNING  DAWES  11 

ear.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and  the  sign  he  had  erected  over 
the  front  of  the  frame  building  adjoining  the  courthouse 
was  as  magnificent  as  Danforth  was  eloquent. 

But  though  Taylor  had  distrusted  Danforth,  he  had  \ 
found  no  evidence  —  until  now  —  that  the  lawyer  in 
tended  to  betray  his  fellow-citizens.  Before  leaving 
Dawes  the  week  before  he  had  heard  some  talk,  linking 
Danfortlr  s  name  with  politics,  but  he  had  discredited  the 
talk.  His  own  selection  had  been  Neil  Norton,  and  he  had 
asked  his  friends  to  consider  Norton. 

Taylor  listened  intently,  with  the  hope  of  hearing  more 
of  the  conversation  being  carried  on  between  the  two 
men  in  front  of  him.  But  he  heard  no  more  on  the  sub 
ject  broached  by  Carrington.  Later,  however,  his  eyes 
still  closed,  still  pretending  to  be  asleep,  he  saw  through 
veiled  eyelids  the  girl  rise  from  her  seat  and  come  toward 
the  two  men  in  front  of  him. 

For  the  first  time  he  got  a  clear,  full  view  of  her  face 
and  a  deep,  disturbing  emotion  thrilled  him.  For  now, 
looking  fairly  at  her,  he  was  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  he  had  seen  her  before,  or  that  her  resemblance  to 
someone  he  had  known  was  more  startling  than  he  had 
thought. 

Then  he  heard  Carrington  speak  to  her. 

"Getting  tired,  Miss  Harlan?"  said  Carrington. 
"Well,  it  will  soon  be  ended,  now.  One  more  night  on 
the  train  —  and  then  Dawes." 


12 THE  RANCHMAN 

The  older  man  laughed,  and  touched  the  girl's  arm 
playfully.  "  You  don't  mind  it,  do  you,  Marion?  " 

The  older  man  said  more,  but  Taylor  did  not  hear  him. 
For  at  his  mention  of  the  girl's  given  name,  so  soon  after 
Carrington's  pronouncement  of  "Harlan,"  Taylor's  eyes 
popped  open,  and  he  sat  erect,  staring  straight  at  the  girl. 

Whether  her  gaze  had  been  drawn  by  his,  or  whether 
her  woman's  curiosity  had  moved  her  to  look  at  him, 
Taylor  never  knew.  But  she  met  his  wide  gaze  fairly, 
and  returned  his  stare  with  one  equally  wide.  Only,  he 
was  certain,  there  was  a  glint  of  mocking  accusation  in 
her  eyes  —  to  remind  him,  he  supposed,  that  she  had 
caught  him  eavesdropping. 

And  then  she  smiled,  looking  at  Carrington. 

"  One  is  recompensed  for  the  inconveniences  of  travel 
by  the  interesting  characters  one  chances  to  meet." 

And  she  found  opportunity,  with  Carrington  looking 
'full  at  her,  to  throw  a  swift,  significant  glance  at  Taylor. 

Taylor  flushed  scarlet.  Not,  however,  because  of  any 
embarrassment  he  felt  over  her  words,  but  because  at 
that  instant  was  borne  overwhelmingly  upon  him  the 
knowledge  that  the  girl,  and  the  man,  Carrington,  who 
accompanied  her  —  even  the  older  man — were  persons 
with  whom  Fate  had  insisted  that  he  play  —  or  fight. 
They  were  to  choose.  And  that  they  had  chosen  to  fight 
was  apparent  by  the  girl's  glance,  and  by  Carrington's 
jvords,  "  We'll  own  Dawes  before  we  get  through." 


CONCERNING  DAWES 13 

Taylor  got  up  and  went  to  the  smoking-room,  where 
he  sat  for  a  long  time,  staring  out  of  the  window,  his 
eyes  on  the  vast  sea  of  sagebrush  that  stretched  before 
him,  his  mental  vision  fixed  on  an  earlier  day  and  upon 
a  tragedy  that  was  linked  with  the  three  persons  in  the 
coach  —  who  seemed  desirous  of  antagonizing  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

SLICK  DUDS 

AFTER  a  time  Taylor's  lips  wreathed  into  a  smile. 
He  searched  in  his  pockets  —  he  had  transferred 
all  his  effects  from  the  clothing  in  the  suitcase  to  his 
present  uncomfortable  raiment  —  and  produced  a  long, 
faded  envelope  in  danger  of  imminent  disintegration. 

The  smile  faded  from  his  lips  as  he  drew  out  the  con 
tents  of  the  envelope,  and  a  certain  grim  pity  filled  his 
eyes.  He  read: 

SQUINT: 

That  rock  falling  on  me  has  fixed  me.  There  is  no  use  in 
me  trying  to  fool  myself.  I'm  going  out.  There's  things  a 
man  can't  say,  even  to  a  friend  like  you.  So  I'm  writing  this. 
You  won't  read  it  until  after  I'm  gone,  and  then  you  can't  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  me  for  shoving  this  responsibility  on 
you.  But  you'll  accept,  I  know ;  you'll  do  it  for  me,  won't 
you? 

I've  had  a  lot  of  trouble  —  family  trouble.  It  wouldn't 
interest  you.  But  it  made  me  come  West.  Maybe  I  shouldn't 
have  come.  I  don't  know ;  but  it  seemed  best. 

You've  been  a  mighty  persevering  friend,  and  I  know  you 
from  the  ground  up.  You  never  inquired  about  my  past,  but 
I  know  you've  wondered.  Once  I  mentioned  my  daughter, 
and  I  saw  you  look  sharp  at  me.  Yes,  there  is  a  daughter. 
Her  name  is  Marion.  There  was  a  wife  and  her  brother, 
Elam  Parsons.  But  only  Marion  counts.  The  others  were 
too  selfish  and  sneaking. 

14 


SLICK  DUDS 


You  won't  be  interested  in  that.  But  I  want  Marion 
taken  care  of.  She  was  fifteen  when  I  saw  her  last.  She 
looked  just  like  me ;  thank  God  for  that !  She  won't  have  any 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  others! 

Squint,  I  want  you  to  take  care  of  her.  You'll  find  her  in 
Westwood,  Illinois.  You  and  me  have  talked  of  selling  the 
mine.  Sell  it ;  take  my  share  and  for  it  give  Marion  a  half- 
interest  in  your  ranch,  the  Arrow.  If  there  is  any  left,  put  it 
in  land  in  Dawes  —  that  town  is  going  to  boom.  Guard  it  for 
her,  and  marry  her,  Squint;  she'll  make  you  a  good  wife. 
Tell  her  I  want  her  to  marry  you ;  she'll  do  it,  for  she  always 
liked  her  "  dad," 


There  was  more,  but  Taylor  read  no  further.  He 
stuffed  the  envelope  into  a  pocket  and  sat  looking  out  of 
the  window,  regarding  morosely  the  featureless  landscape. 
After  a  time  he  grinned  saturninely: 

"Looks  to  me  like  a  long  chance,  Larry,"  he  mused. 
"  Considered  as  a  marrying  proposition  she  don't  seem 
to  be  enthusiastic  over  me.  Now  what  in  thunder  is  she 
doing  out  here,  and  why  is  that  man  Carrington  with 
her — and  where  did  she  pick  him  up  ?  " 

There  came  no  answer  to  these  questions. 

Reluctant,  after  the  girl's  mocking  smile,  to  seem  to 
intrude,  Taylor  sat  in  the  smoking-compartment  during 
the  long  afternoon,  until  the  dusk  began  to  descend  — 
until  through  the  curtains  of  the  compartment  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  girl  and  her  companions  returning  from 
the  dining-car.  Then,  after  what  he  considered  a  decent 
interval,  he  emerged  from  the  compartment,  went  to 


16 THE  RANCHMAN 

the  diner,  ate  heartily,  and  returned  to  the  smoking- 
room. 

He  had  met  Larry  Harlan  about  three  years  before. 
Harlan  had  appeared  at  the  Arrow  one  morning,  looking 
for  a  job.  Taylor  had  hired  him,  not  because  he  needed 
men,  but  because  he  thought  Harlan  needed  work.  A' 
friendship  had  developed,  and  when  one  day  Harlan  had 
told  Taylor  about  a  mine  he  had  discovered  in  the  Sangre 
de  Christo  Mountains,  some  miles  southwestward,  offer 
ing  Taylor  a  half-interest  if  the  latter  would  help  him 
get  at  the  gold,  Taylor  had  agreed. 

They  had  found  the  mine,  worked  it,  and  had  taken 
considerable  gold  out  of  it,  when  one  day  a  huge  rock 
had  fallen  on  Harlan.  Taylor  had  done  what  he  could, 
rigging  up  a  drag  with  which  to  take  Harlan  to  town  and 
a  doctor,  but  Harlan  had  died  before  town  could  be 
reached. 

That  had  been  the  extent  of  Taylor's  friendship  for 
the  man.  But  he  had  followed  Harlan's  directions. 

Sitting  in  the  smoking-compartment,  he  again  drew  out 
Harlan's  note  to  him  and  read  further : 

Marion  will  have  considerable  money,  and  I  don't  want 
no  sneak  to  get  hold  of  it  —  like  the  sneak  that  got  hold  of 
the  money  my  wife  had,  that  I  saved.  There's  a  lot  of  them 
around.  If  Marion  is  going  to  fall  in  love  with  one  of  that 
kind,  I'd  rather  she  wouldn't  get  what  I  leave  —  the  man 
would  get  it  away  from  her. 

Use  your  own  judgment,  and  I'll  be  satisfied. 


SLICK  DUDS  17 


It  was  not  difficult  for  Taylor  to  divine  what  had  hap 
pened  to  Harlan,  nor  was  it  difficult  to  understand  that 
the  man's  distrust  of  other  men  amounted  to  an  obses 
sion.  However,  Taylor  had  no  choice  but  to  assume  the 
trust  and  no  course  but  to  obey  Harlan's  wishes  in  the 
matter. 

Taylor's  trip  eastward  to  Kansas  City  had  been  for  the 
purpose  of  attending  to  his  own  financial  interests,  and 
incidentally  to  conclude  the  deal  for  the  sale  of  the  mine. 
He  had  deposited  the  money  in  his  own  name,  but  he 
intended  —  or  had  intended  —  after  returning  to  the 
Arrow  to  make  arrangements  for  his  absence,  to  go  to 
Westwood  to  find  Marion  Harlan.  The  presence  of  the 
girl  on  the  train  and  the  certain  conviction  that  she  was 
bound  for  Dawes  made  the  trip  to  Westwood  unnecessary. 

For  Taylor  had  no  doubt  that  the  girl  was  the  daughter 
of  Larry  Harlan.  That  troublesome  resemblance  of  hers 
to  someone  of  his  acquaintance  bothered  him  no  longer, 
for  the  girl  was  the  living  image  of  Larry  Harlan. 

Taylor  had  not  anticipated  the  coming  of  Carrington 
into  his  scheme  of  things.  For  the  first  time  since  Larry 
Harlan's  letter  had  come  into  his  possession  he  realized 
that  deep  in  his  heart  was  a  fugitive  desire  for  the  coming 
of  the  girl  to  the  Arrow.  He  had  liked  Larry  Harlan, 
and  he  had  drawn  mental  pictures  of  what  the  daughter 
would  be  like ;  and,  though  she  was  not  exactly  as  he  had 
pictured  her,  she  was  near  enough  to  the  ideal  he  had 


18  THE  RANCHMAN 

visualized.    He  wanted,  now  more  than  ever,  to  faithfully 
fulfil  his  obligation  to  Larry  Harlan. 

The  presence  of  Carrington  on  the  train,  coupled  with 
the  inference  that  Carrington  was  a  close  friend  of  the 
girl's,  irritated  Taylor.  For  at  the  first  glance  he  had 
felt  a  subtle  antagonism  for  the  man.  Yet  he  was  more 
disturbed  over  the  mockery  in  the  girl's  eyes  when  she 
had  looked  directly  at  him  when  she  had  caught  him 
listening  to  her  talk  with  Carrington  and  the  older  man. 

Still,  Taylor  was  not  the  type  of  man  who  permits  the 
imminence  of  discord  to  disturb  his  mental  equanimity, 
and  he  grinned  into  the  growing  darkness  of  the  plains 
with  a  grimly  humorous  twist  to  his  lips  that  promised 
interesting  developments  should  Carrington  oppose  him. 

When  he  again  looked  out  of  the  aperture  in  the  cur 
tains  screening  the  smoking-compartment  from  the  aisle 
he  saw  the  porter  pass,  carrying  bedclothing.  Later  he 
saw  the  porter  returning,  smilingly  inspecting  a  bill. 
After  an  interval  the  porter  stuck  his  head  through  the 
curtains  and  surveyed  him  with  a  flashing  grin : 

"  Is  you  ready  to  retiah,  boss  ?  "  he  asked. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Taylor  was  alone  in  his  berth, 
gazing  at  his  reflection  in  the  glass  while  he  undressed. 

"You  wouldn't  have  the  nerve  to  think  she  is  inter 
ested  in  you,  would  you  —  you  homely  son-of-a-gun?" 
he  queried  of  his  reflection.  "Why,  no,  she  ain't,  of 
course,"  he  added;  "no  woman  could  be  interested  in 


SLICK  DUDS 19 

you.  You've  been  all  day  looking  like  a  half-baked  dude 
—  and  no  woman  is  interested  in  dudes ! " 

Carefully  removing  the  contents  of  the  several  pockets 
of  the  despised  wearing  apparel  in  which  he  had  suf 
fered  for  many  days,  he  got  into  his  nightclothes  and  rang 
for  the  porter.  When  the  latter  appeared  with  his  huge 
grin,  Taylor  gave  him  the  offensive  clothing,  bundled 
together  to  form  a  large  ball. 

"  George,"  he  said  seriously,  almost  solemnly,  "  I'm 
tired  of  being  a  dude.  Some  day  I  may  decide  to  be  a 
dude;  but  not  now.  Take  these  duds  and  save  them 
until  I  ask  for  them.  If  you  offer  them  to  me  before  I 
ask  for  them,  I'll  perforate  you  sure  as  hell ! " 

He  produced  a  big  Colt  pistol  from  somewhere,  and 
as  the  weapon  glinted  in  the  light  the  porter's  eyes  bulged 
and  he  backed  away,  gingerly  holding  the  bundle  of 
clothing. 

"Yassir,  boss  —  yassir!  I  shuah  won't  mention  it  till 
you  does,  boss ! " 

When  the  porter  had  gone,  Taylor  grinned  into  the 
glass. 

"  I  sure  have  felt  just  what  I  looked,"  he  said. 

Then  he  got  into  his  berth  and  dreamed  all  night  of  a 
girl  whose  mocking  eyes  seemed  to  say : 

"Well,  do  you  think  you  have  profited  by  listening?" 

"Why,  sure,"  he  retorted,  in  his  dreams;  "I've  seen 
you,  ain't  I?" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  SERPENT  TRAIL 

MARION  HARLAN  did  not  dream  of  Quinton 
Taylor,  though  her  last  waking  thought  was  of 
him,  and  when  she  opened  her  eyes  in  the  morning  it  was 
to  see  him  as  he  had  sat  in  the  seat  behind  Carrington  and 
her  uncle,  his  eyes  wide  with  interest,  or  astonishment  — 
or  some  emotion  that  she  could  not  define  —  looking 
directly  at  her. 

She  had  been  certain  then,  and  still  was  certain  that 
he  had  been  feigning  sleep,  that  he  had  been  listening  to 
the  talk  carried  on  between  her  uncle  and  Carrington. 

Why  had  he  listened? 

That  interrogation  absorbed  her  thoughts  as  she 
dressed. 

She  had  not  meant  to  be  interested  in  him,  for  she  had, 
in  her  first  glance  at  him,  mentally  decided  that  he  was 
no  more  interesting  than  many  another  ill-dressed  and 
uncouth  westerner  whom  she  had  seen  on  the  journey 
toward  Dawes. 

To  be  sure,  she  had  seen  signs  of  strength  in  him, 
mental  and  physical,  but  that  had  been  when  she  looked  at 
him  coming  toward  her  down  the  aisle.  But  even  then 

20 


THE  SERPENT  TRAIL 21 

he  had  not  interested  her;  her  interest  began  when  she 
noted  his  interest  in  the  conversation  of  her  traveling 
companions.  And  then  she  had  noticed  several  things 
about  him  that  had  escaped  her  in  other  glances  at  him. 

For  one  thing,  despite  the  astonishment  in  his  eyes, 
she  had  observed  the  cold  keenness  of  them,  the  odd  squint 
at  the  corners,  where  little  wrinkles,  splaying  outward, 
indicated  either  deliberate  impudence  or  concealed  mirth. 
She  was  rather  inclined  to  believe  it  the  latter,  though  she 
would  not  have  been  surprised  to  discover  the  wrinkles 
to  mean  the  former. 

And  then  she  had  noted  his  mouth;  his  lips  had  been 
straight  and  firm;  she  had  been  sure  they  were  set  reso 
lutely  when  she  had  surprised  him  looking  at  her.  That 
had  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  taken  more  than  a 
passing  interest  in  what  he  had  overheard. 

She  speculated  long  over  the  incident,  finally  decid 
ing  that  much  would  depend  upon  what  he  had  overheard. 
There  was  only  one  way  to  determine  that,  and  at  break 
fast  in  the  dining-car  she  interrogated  Carrington. 

"  Of  course,  you  and  uncle  are  going  to  Dawes  on  busi 
ness,  and  I  am  merely  tagging  along  to  see  if  I  can  find 
any  trace  of  my  father.  But  have  you  any  business 
secrets  that  might  interest  an  eavesdropper  ?  On  a  train, 
for  instance  —  a  train  going  toward  Dawes?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Carrington's  eyes  flashed  as 
he  leaned  toward  her. 


22 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  Have  you  and  uncle  talked  business  within  hearing 
distance  of  a  stranger?" 

Carrington's  face  flushed;  he  exchanged  a  swift  glance 
with  the  other  man. 

"  You  mean  that  clodhopper  with  the  tight-fitting  hand- 
me-down  in  the  seat  behind  us  —  yesterday?  He  was 
asleep ! " 

"  Then  you  did  talk  business  —  business  secrets,"  smiled 
the  girl.  "  I  thought  really  big  men  commonly  concealed 
their  business  secrets  from  the  eager  ears  of  outsiders." 

She  laughed  aloud  at  Carrington's  scowl,  and  then 
went  on : 

"I  don't  think  the  clodhopper  was  asleep.  In  fact,  I 
rather  think  he  was  very  wide  awake.  I  wouldn't  say 
for  certain,  but  I  think  he  was  awake.  You  see,  when 
I  came  back  to  talk  with  you  he  was  sitting  very  straight, 
and  his  eyes  were  wide  open. 

"And  I  shall  tell  you  something  else,"  she  went  on. 
"  During  all  the  time  he  sat  behind  you,  when  you  were 
talking,  I  watched  him,  he  was  pretending  to  sleep,  for 
at  times  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  you,  and  I  am 
sure  he  was  not  thinking  pleasant  thoughts.  And  I  don't 
believe  he  is  a  clodhopper.  I  think  he  amounts  to  some 
thing;  and  if  you  will  look  well  at  him  you  will  see,  too. 
.When  he  was  listening  to  you  there  Vvas  a  look  in  his  eyes 
that  made  me  think  of  fighting."  And  then,  after  a 
momentary  pause,  she  added  slowly,  "  there  isn't  anything 


THE  SERPENT  TRAIL  23 

wrong  about  the  business  you  are  going  to  transact  out 
here  —  is  there?" 

"Wrong?"  he  laughed.  "Oh,  no!  Business  is  busi 
ness."  He  leaned  forward  and  gazed  deliberately  into 
her  eyes,  his  own  glowing  significantly.  "You  don't 
think,  with  me  holding  your  good  opinion  —  and  always 
hoping  to  better  it  —  that  I  would  do  anything  to  destroy 
it,  Marion?" 

The  girl's  cheeks  were  suffused  with  faint  color. 

"You  are  assuming  again,  Mr.  James  J.  Carrington. 
I  don't  care  for  your  subtle  speeches.  I  like  you  best  when 
you  talk  frankly ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  ever  like 
you  enough  to  marry  you." 

She  smiled  at  the  scowl  in  his  eyes,  then  looked  spec- 
ulatively  at  him.  It  should  have  been  apparent  to  him 
that  she  had  spoken  the  truth  regarding  her  feeling  for 
him. 

The  uncle  knew  she  had  spoken  the  truth,  for  she  left 
them  presently,  and  the  car  door  had  hardly  closed  behind 
her  when  Carrington  said,  smiling  grimly: 

"  She's  a  thoroughbred,  Parsons.  That's  why  I  like 
her.  I'll  have  her,  too !  " 

"Careful,"  grinned  the  other,  smoothly.  "If  she  ever 
discovers  what  a  brute  you  are  —  "  He  made  a  gesture 
of  finality. 

"  Brute !  Bah !  Parsons,  you  make  me  sick !  I'll  take 
her  when  I  want  her !  Why  do  you  suppose  I  told  her  that 


24 THE  RANCHMAN 

fairy  tale  about  her  father  having  been  seen  in  this  local 
ity?  To  get  her  out  here  with  me,  of  course  —  where 
there  isn't  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  law,  and  a  man's  will  is  the 
only  thing  that  governs  him.  She  won't  have  me,  eh? 
iWell,  we'll  see!" 

Parsons  smirked  at  the  other.  "Then  you  lied  about 
Lawrence  Harlan  having  been  seen  in  this  country?" 

"  Sure,"  admitted  Carrington.     "  Why  not  ?  " 

Parsons  looked  leeringly  at  Carrington.  "  Suppose  I 
should  tell  her?" 

Carrington  glared  at  the  older  man.  "  You  won't,"  he 
declared.  "In  the  first  place,  you  don't  love  her  as  an 
uncle  should  because  she  looks  like  Larry  Harlan  —  and 
you  hated  Larry.  Suppose  I  should  tell  her  that  you  were 
the  cause  of  the  trouble  between  her  parents;  that  you 
framed  up  on  her  mother,  to  get  her  to  leave  Larry? 
Why,  you  damned,  two-faced  gopher,  she'd  wither  you! " 

He  grinned  at  the  other  and  got  up,  turning,  when  he 
reached  his  feet,  to  see  Quinton  Taylor,  standing  beside 
a  chair  at  the  next  table,  just  ready  to  sit  down,  but 
delaying  to  hear  the  remainder  of  the  extraordinary  con 
versation  carried  on  between  the  two  men. 

Taylor  had  donned  the  garments  he  had  discarded  in 
Kansas  City.  A  blue  woolen  shirt,  open  at  the  throat; 
corduroy  trousers,  the  bottoms  stuffed  into  the  soft  tops 
of  high-heeled  boots;  a  well-filled  cartridge-belt,  sag 
ging  at  the  right  hip  with  the  weight  of  a  heavy  pistol — • 


THE  SERPENT  TRAIL 25 

and  a  broad-brimmed  felt  hat,  which  a  smiling  waiter 
held  for  him  —  completed  his  attire. 

Freshly  shaved,  his  face  glowed  with  the  color  that 
betokens  perfect  health;  and  just  now  his  eyes  were  also 
glowing  —  but  with  frank  disgust  and  dislike. 

Carrington  flushed  darkly  and  stepped  close  to  Taylor. 
Carrington's  chin  was  thrust  out  belligerently;  his  eyes 
fairly  danced  with  a  rage  that  he  could  hardly  restrain. 

"Listening  again,  eh?"  he  said  hoarsely.  "You  had 
your  ears  trained  on  us  yesterday,  in  the  Pullman,  and 
now  you  are  at  it  again.  I've  a  notion  to  knock  your 
damned  head  off !  " 

Taylor's  eyelids  flickered  once,  the  little  wrinkles  at  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  deepening  a  trifle.  But  his  gaze  was 
steady,  and  the  blue  of  his  eyes  grew  a  trifle  more  steely. 

"You've  got  a  bigger  notion  not  to,  Mr.  Man,"  he 
grinned.  "You  run  a  whole  lot  to  talk." 

He  sat  clown,  twisted  around  in  the  chair  and  faced 
the  table,  casting  a  humorous  eye  at  the  black  waiter, 
and  ignoring  Carrington. 

"  I'll  want  a  passable  breakfast  this  morning,  George," 
he  said;  "I'm  powerful  hungry." 

He  did  not  turn  when  Carrington  went  out,  followed 
by  Parsons. 

The  waiter  hovered  near  him,  grinning  widely. 

"  I  reckon  you-all  ain't  none  scary,  boss ! "  he  said, 
admiringly. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  HOLD-UP 

AFTER  breakfast  —  leaving  a  widely  grinning  waiter, 
who  watched  him  admiringly  —  Taylor  reentered 
the  Pullman. 

Stretching  out  in  the  upholstered  seat,  Taylor  watched 
the  flying  landscape.  But  his  thoughts  were  upon  the 
two  men  he  had  overheard  talking  about  the  girl  in  the 
diner.  Taylor  made  a  grimace  of  disgust  at  the  great 
world  through  which  the  train  was  speeding;  and  his 
feline  grin  when  his  thoughts  dwelt  definitely  upon  Car- 
rington,  indicated  that  the  genial  waiter  had  not  erred 
greatly  in  saying  Taylor  was  not  "scary." 

Upon  entering,  Taylor  had  flashed  a  rapid  glance  into 
the  car.  He  had  seen  Carrington  and  Parsons  sitting  to 
gether  in  one  of  the  seats  and,  farther  down,  the  girl, 
leaning  back,  was  looking  out  of  the  window.  Her  back 
was  toward  Taylor.  She  had  not  seen  him  enter  the 
car  —  and  he  was  certain  she  had  not  seen  him  leave  it 
to  go  to  the  diner.  He  had  thought  —  as  he  had  glanced 
at  her  as  he  went  into  the  smoking-compartment  —  that, 
despite  the  girl's  seemingly  affectionate  manner  toward 
Parsons,  and  her  cordial  treatment  of  the  big  man,  her 

26 


THE  HOLD-UP 


manner  indicated  the  presence  of  a  certain  restraint.  And 
as  he  looked  toward  her,  he  wondered  if  Parsons  or  the 
big  man  had  told  her  anything  of  the  conversation  in  the 
diner  in  which  he  himself  figured. 

And  now,  looking  out  of  the  window,  he  decided  that 
even  if  the  men  had  told  her,  she  would  not  betray  her 
knowledge  to  him  —  unless  it  were  to  give  him  another 
scornful  glance  —  the  kind  she  threw  at  him  when  she 
saw  him  as  he  sat  behind  the  two  men  when  they  had 
been  talking  of  Dawes.  Taylor  reddened  and  gritted 
his  teeth  impotently;  for  he  knew  that  if  the  two  men 
had  told  her  anything,  they  would  have  informed  her, 
merely,  that  they  had  again  caught  him  listening  to  them. 
And  for  that  double  offense,  Taylor  knew  there  would  be 
no  pardon  from  her. 

Half  an  hour  later,  while  still  thinking  of  the  girl  and 
the  men,  Taylor  felt  the  train  slowing  down.  Peering  as 
far  ahead  as  he  could  by  pressing  his  face  against  the 
glass  of  the  window,  Taylor  saw  the  train  was  entering  a 
big  cut  between  some  hills.  It  was  a  wild  section,  with 
a  heavy  growth  of  timber  skirting  the  hills  —  on  Taylor's 
side  of  the  train  —  and  running  at  a  sharp  angle  toward 
the  right-of-way  came  a  small  river. 

Taylor  recognized  the  place  as  Toban's  Siding.  He 
did  not  know  how  the  spot  had  come  by  its  name;  nor 
did  he  know  much  about  it  except  that  there  was  a  spur 
of  track  and  a  water-tank.  And  when  the  train  began 


28 THE  RANCHMAN 

to  slow  down  he  supposed  the  engineer  had  decided  to 
stop  to  take  on  water.  He  found  himself  wondering, 
though,  why  that  should  be  necessary,  for  he  was  certain 
the  train  had  stopped  for  water  a  few  miles  back,  while 
he  had  been  in  the  dining-car. 

The  train  was  already  late,  and  Taylor  grinned  as  he 
settled  farther  back  in  the  seat  and  drew  a  sigh  of  resig 
nation.  There  was  no  accounting  for  the  whims  of  an 
engineer,  he  supposed. 

He  felt  the  train  come  to  a  jerking  stop ;  and  then  fell 
a  silence.    An  instant  later  the  silence  was  broken  by  two 
sharp  reports,  a  distinct  interval  between  them.     Taylor 
sat  erect,  the  smile  leaving  his  face,  and  his  lips  setting 
grimly  as  the  word  "  Hold-up  "  came  from  between  them. 
Marion  Harlan  also  heard  the  two  reports.    Stories  of 
train  robberies  —  recollections  of  travelers'  tales  recurred 
in  her  brain  as  she  sat,  for  the  first  tense  instant  follow 
ing  the  reports,  listening  for  other  sounds.    Her  face  grew 
a  little  pale,  and  a  tremor  ran  over  her;  but  she  did  not 
feel  a  bit  like  screaming  —  though  in  all  the  stories  she  had 
ever  read,  women  always  yielded  to  the  hysteria  of  that 
moment  in  which  a  train-robber  makes  his  presence  known. 
She  was  not  frightened,  though  she  was  just  a  trifle 
nervous,  and  more  than  a  trifle  curious.     So  she  pressed 
her  cheek  against  the  window-glass  and  looked  forward. 
What  she  saw  caused  her  to  draw  back  again,  her  curi 
osity  satisfied.    For  on  the  side  of  the  cut  near  the  engine. 


THE  HOLD-UP  29 


she  had  seen  a  man  with  a  rifle  —  a  masked  man,  tall  and 
rough-looking — and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  weapon 
in  his  hands  was  menacing  someone  in  the  engine-cab. 

She  stiffened,  looking  quickly  around  the  car.  None 
of  the  passengers  had  moved.  Carrington  and  Parsons 
were  still  sitting  together  in  the  seat.  They  were  sitting 
erect,  though,  and  she  saw  they,  too,  were  curious.  More, 
she  saw  that  both  men  were  pale,  and  that  Carrington,  the 
instant  she  turned,  became  active  —  bending  over,  appar 
ently  trying  to  hide  something  under  a  seat.  That  move 
ment  on  Carrington's  part  was  convincing,  and  the  girl 
drew  a  deep  breath. 

While  she  was  debating  the  wisdom  of  permitting  her 
curiosity  to  drive  her  to  the  door  nearest  her  to  deter 
mine  what  had  happened,  the  door  burst  open  and  a 
masked  man  appeared  in  the  opening! 

While  she  stared  at  him,  he  uttered  the  short,  terse 
command : 

"Hands  up!." 

She  supposed  that  meant  her,  as  well  as  the  men  in  the 
car,  and  she  complied,  though  with  a  resentful  glare  at 
the  mask. 

Daringly  she  turned  her  head  and  glanced  back.  Car 
rington  had  his  hands  up,  too;  and  Parsons  —  and  the 
tourist,  and  the  other  man.  She  did  not  see  Taylor  — 
though  she  wondered,  on  the  instant,  if  he,  too,  would 
obey  the  train-robber's  command. 


80 THE  RANCHMAN 

She  decided  he  would  —  any  other  course  would  have 
been  foolhardy;  though  she  could  not  help  remembering 
that  queer  gleam  in  Taylor's  eyes.  That  gleam,  it  had 
seemed  to  her,  was  a  reflection  of  —  not  foolhardiness, 
but  of  sheer  courage. 

However,  she  had  little  time  to  speculate.  The  masked 
man  advanced,  a  heavy  gun  in  his  right  hand,  its  muzzle 
moving  from  side  to  side,  menacing  them  all. 

He  halted  when  he  had  advanced  to  within  a  step  of  the 
girl. 

"  You  guys  set  tight !  "  he  ordered  gruffly  —  in  the  man 
ner  of  the  train-robber  of  romance.  "If  you  go  to  lettin' 
down  your  sky-hooks  one  little  quiver,  I  bore  you  so  fast 
an'  plenty  that  you'll  think  you're  a  colander!"  Then 
he  turned  the  mask  toward  the  girl;  she  could  feel  his 
eyes  burning  through  it. 

"  Shell  out,  lady !  "  he  commanded. 

She  stared  straight  back  at  the  eye-slits  in  the  mask, 
defiance  glinting  her  own  eyes. 

"I  haven't  any  money  —  or  anything  of  value  —  to 
give  you,"  she  returned. 

"You've  got  a  pocketbook  there  —  in  your  hand!" 
he  said.  "Fork  it  over!"  He  removed  his  hat,  held  it 
in  his  left  hand,  and  extended  it  toward  her.  "  Toss  it 
in  there!" 

Hesitatingly,  she  obeyed,  though  not  without  a  vin 
dictive  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  he  would  find  little 


THE  HOLD-UP  31 


in  the  purse  to  compensate  him  for  his  trouble.  She 
could  see  his  eyes  gleam  greedily  as  he  still  looked  at  her. 

"Now  that  chain  an'  locket  you've  got  around  your 
neck ! "  he  ordered.  "  Quick ! "  he  added,  savagely,  as 
she  stiffened  and  glared  at  him. 

She  did  as  she  was  bidden,  though;  for  she  had  no 
doubt  he  would  kill  her  —  at  least  his  manner  indicated 
he  would.  And  so  she  removed  it,  held  it  lingering  in  her 
hand  for  an  instant,  and  then  tossed  it  into  the  hat.  She 
gulped  as  she  did  so,  for  the  trinket  had  been  given  to  her 
by  her  father  before  he  left  home  to  go  on  that  pilgrim 
age  from  which  he  had  never  returned. 

"That's  all,  eh?"  snarled  the  man.  "Well,  I  ain't 
swallowin'  that!  I'm  goin'  to  search  you!" 

She  believed  she  must  have  screamed  at  that.  She 
knew  she  stood  up,  prepared  to  fight  him  if  he  attempted 
to  carry  out  his  threat;  and  once  on  her  feet  she  looked 
backward. 

Neither  Carrington  nor  Parsons  had  moved  —  they 
were  palely  silent,  watching,  not  offering  to  interfere. 
As  for  that,  she  knew  that  any  sign  of  interference  on 
the  part  of  her  friends  would  result  in  their  instant  death. 
But  she  did  not  know  what  they  should  do !  Something 
must  be  done,  for  she  could  not  permit  the  indignity  the 
man  threatened! 

Still  looking  backward,  she  saw  Taylor  standing  at 
the  end  of  the  car  —  where  the  partition  of  the  smoking- 


32 THE  RANCHMAN 

compartment  extended  outward.  He  held  a  gun  in  each 
hand.  He  had  heard  her  scream,  and  on  his  face  as  the 
girl  turned  toward  him,  she  saw  a  mirthless  grin  that 
made  her  shiver.  She  believed  it  must  have  been  her  gasp 
that  caused  the  train-robber  to  look  swiftly  at  Taylor. 

Whatever  had  caused  the  man  to  look  toward  the  rear 
of  the  car,  he  saw  Taylor;  and  the  girl  saw  him  stiffen 
as  his  pistol  roared  in  her  ears.  Taylor's  pistols  crashed 
at  the  same  instant  —  twice  —  the  reports  almost  together. 
Afterward  she  could  not  have  told  what  surprised  her 
the  most  —  seeing  the  man  at  her  side  drop  his  pistol  and 
lurch  limply  against  a  corner  of  the  seat  opposite  her, 
and  from  there  slide  gently  to  the  floor,  grunting;  or  the 
spectacle  of  Taylor,  arrayed  in  cowboy  garb,  emerging 
from  the  door  of  the  smoking-compartment,  the  mirthless 
smile  on  his  face,  and  his  guns  —  he  had  used  both  — 
blazing  forth  death  to  the  man  who  had  threatened  her. 

Nor  could  she  —  afterward  —  have  related  what  fol 
lowed  the  sudden  termination  of  the  incident  in  the  car. 
Salient  memories  stood  out  —  the  vivid  and  tragic  recol 
lection  of  chief  incidents  that  occurred  immediately;  but 
she  could  not  have  even  guessed  how  they  happened. 

She  saw  Taylor  as  he  stood  for  an  instant  looking  down 
at  the  man  after  he  came  running  forward  to  where  the 
other  lay ;  and  she  saw  Taylor  leap  for  the  front  door  of 
the  car,  vanish  through  it,  and  slam  it  after  him. 

For  an  instant  after  that  there  was  silence,  during 


THE  HOLD-UP  33 


which  she  shuddered  as  she  tried  to  keep  her  gaze  from 
the  thing  that  lay  doubled  oddly  in  the  aisle. 

And  then  she  heard  more  shooting.  It  came  from 
the  direction  of  the  engine  —  the  staccato  crashing  of 
pistols;  the  shouts  of  men,  their  voices  raised  in  anger. 

Pressing  her  cheek  against  the  window-pane,  and  look 
ing  forward  toward  the  engine,  she  saw  Taylor.  With  a 
gun  in  each  hand,  he  was  running  down  the  little  level 
between  the  track  and  the  steep  wall  of  the  cut,  toward 
her.  She  noted  that  his  face  still  wore  the  mirthless 
grin  that  had  been  on  it  when  he  shot  the  train-robber 
in  the  car;  though  his  eyes  were  alight  with  the  lust  of 
battle  —  that  was  all  too  plain  —  and  she  shivered.  For 
Taylor,  having  killed  one  man,  and  grimly  pursuing 
others,  seemed  to  suggest  the  spirit  of  this  grim,  rugged 
country  —  the  threat  of  death  that  seemed  to  linger  on 
every  hand. 

She  saw  him  snap  a  shot  as  he  ran,  bending  far  over 
to  send  the  bullet  under  the  car;  she  heard  a  pistol  crash 
from  the  other  side  of  the  car;  and  then  she  saw  Taylor 
go  to  his  knees. 

She  gasped  with  horror  and  held  to  the  window-sill,  for 
she  feared  Taylor  had  been  killed.  But  almost  instantly 
she  saw  her  error,  for  Taylor  was  on  his  hands  and  knees 
crawling  when  she  could  again  concentrate  her  gaze ;  and 
she  knew  he  was  crawling  under  the  car  to  catch  the 
man  who  had  shot  from  the  other  side. 


34 THE  RANCHMAN 

Then  Taylor  disappeared,  and  she  did  not  see  him 
for  a  time.  She  heard  shots,  though;  many  of  them; 
and  then,  after  a  great  while,  a  silence.  And  during  the 
silence  she  sat  very  still,  her  face  white  and  her  lips  stiff, 
waiting. 

The  silence  seemed  to  endure  for  an  age;  and  then  it 
was  broken  by  the  sound  of  voices,  the  opening  of  the 
door  of  the  car,  and  the  appearance  of  Taylor  and  some 
other  men  —  several  members  of  the  train-crew;  the  ex 
press-messenger;  the  engineer,  his  right  arm  hanging 
limply  —  and  two  men,  preceding  the  others,  their  hands 
bound,  their  faces  sullen. 

On  Taylor's  face  was  the  grin  that  had  been  on  it  all 
along.  The  girl  wondered  at  the  man's  marvelous  self- 
control —  for  certainly  during  those  moments  of  excite 
ment  and  danger  he  must  have  been  aware  of  the  terrible 
risk  he  had  been  running.  And  then  the  thought  struck 
her  —  she  had  not  considered  that  phase  of  the  situation 
before  —  that  she  must  have  screamed;  that  he  had  heard 
her,  and  had  emerged  from  the  smoking-room  to  protect 
her.  She  blushed,  gratitude  and  a  riot  of  other  emotions 
overwhelming  her,  so  that  she  leaned  weakly  back  in  the 
seat,  succumbing  to  the  inevitable  reaction. 

She  did  not  look  at  Taylor  again;  she  did  not  even  see 
him  as  he  walked  toward  the  rear  of  the  car,  followed  by 
the  train-crew,  and  preceded  by  the  two  train-robbers  ha 
had  captured. 


THE  HOLD-UP  35 


But  as  the  train-crew  passed  her,  she  heard  one  of  them 
say: 

"That  guy's  a  whirlwind  with  a  gun!  Didn't  do  no 
hesitatin',  did  he  ?  " 

And  again : 

"  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  would  make  a  guy  jump 
in  that  way  an'  run  a  chance  of  gettin'  plugged  —  plenty? 
Do  you  reckon  he  was  just  yearnin'  fer  trouble,  or  do 
you  reckon  they  was  somethin'  else  behind  it  ?  " 

The  girl  might  have  answered,  but  she  did  not.  She 
sat  very  still,  comparing  Carrington  with  this  man  who 
had  plunged  instantly  into  a  desperate  gun-fight  to  pro 
tect  her.  And  she  knew  that  Carrington  would  not  have 
done  as  Taylor  had  done.  And  had  Carrington  seen  her 
face  just  at  that  moment  he  would  have  understood  that 
there  was  no  possibility  of  him  ever  achieving  the  success 
of  which  he  had  dreamed. 

She  heard  one  of  the  men  say  that  the  two  men  were 
to  be  placed  in  the  baggage-car  until  they  reached  Dawes ; 
and  then  Carrington  and  Parsons  came  to  where  she  sat. 

They  talked,  but  the  girl  did  not  hear  them,  for  her 
thoughts  were  on  the  picture  Taylor  made  when  he  ap 
peared  at  the  door  of  the  smoking-compartment  arrayed 
in  his  cowboy  rigging,  the  grim  smile  on  his  face,  his  guns 
flaming  death  to  the  man  who  thought  to  take  advantage 
of  her  helplessness. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  UNEXPECTED 

THE  train  pulled  out  again  presently,  and  the  water- 
tank  and  the  cut  were  rapidly  left  in  the  rear.  Tay 
lor  returned  to  the  smoking-room  and  resumed  his  seat, 
and  while  the  girl  looked  out  of  the  window,  some  men  of 
the  train-crew  removed  the  body  of  the  train-robber  and 
obliterated  all  traces  of  the  fight.  And  Carrington  and 
Parsons,  noting  the  girl's  abstractedness,  again  left  her  to 
herself. 

It  had  been  the  girl's  first  glimpse  of  a  man  in  cowboy 
raiment,  and,  as  she  reflected,  she  knew  she  might  have 
known  Taylor  was  an  unusual  man.  However,  she  knew 
it  now. 

Cursory  glances  at  drawings  she  had  seen  made  her 
familiar  with  the  type,  but  the  cowboys  of  those  drawings 
had  been  magnificently  arrayed  in  leather  chaparajos, 
usually  fringed  with  spangles;  and  with  long-roweled 
spurs;  magnificent  wide  brims  —  also  bespangled,  and 
various  other  articles  of  personal  adornment,  bewildering 
and  awe  inspiring. 

But  this  man,  though  undoubtedly  a  cow-puncher,  was 
minus  the  magnificent  raiment  of  the  drawing  And, 

36 


THE  UNEXPECTED 37 

paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  the  absence  of  any  magnifi 
cent  trappings  made  him  seem  magnificent. 

But  she  was  not  so  sure  that  it  was  the  lack  of  those 
things  that  gave  her  that  impression.  He  did  not  bulge  in 
his  cowboy  clothing;  it  fitted  him  perfectly.  She  was  sure 
it  was  he  who  gave  magnificence  to  the  clothing.  Anyway, 
she  was  certain  he  was  magnificent,  and  her  eyes  glowed. 
She  knew,  now  that  she  had  seen  him  in  clothing  to  which 
he  was  accustomed,  and  which  he  knew  how  to  wear,  that 
she  would  have  been  more  interested  in  him  yesterday 
had  he  appeared  before  her  arrayed  as  he  was  at  this 
moment. 

He  had  shown  himself  capable,  self-reliant,  confident. 
She  would  have  given  him  her  entire  admiration  had  it 
not  been  for  the  knowledge  that  she  had  caught  him 
eavesdropping.  That  action  had  almost  damned  him  in 
her  estimation  —  it  would  have  completely  and  irrevocably 
condemned  him  had  it  not  been  for  her  recollection  of  the 
stern,  almost  savage  interest  she  had  seen  in  his  eyes 
while  he  had  been  listening  to  Carrington  and  Parsons. 

She  knew  because  of  that  expression  that  Carrington 
and  Parsons  had  been  discussing  something  in  which 
he  took  a  personal  interest.  She  had  not  said  so  much 
to  Carrington,  but  her  instinct  told  her,  warned  her,  gave 
her  a  presentiment  of  impending  trouble.  That  was  what 
she  had  meant  when  she  had  told  Carrington  she  had 
seen  fighting  in  Taylor's  eyes. 


THE  RANCHMAN 


Taylor  confined  himself  to  the  smoking-compartment. 
The  negro  porter,  with  pleasing  memories  of  generous 
tips  and  a  grimmer  memory  to  exact  his  worship,  hung 
around  him,  eager  to  serve  him,  and  to  engage  him  in 
conversation;  once  he  grinningly  mentioned  the  incident: 
of  the  cast-off  clothing  of  the  night  before. 

"I  ain't  mentionin'  it,  boss  —  not  at  all!  I  ain't  givin* 
you  them  duds  till  you  ast  for  them.  You  done  took  me 
by  s'prise,  boss  —  you  shuah  did.  I  might'  near  caved 
when  you  shoved  that  gun  under  ma  nose  —  I  shuah  did, 
boss.  I  don't  want  to  have  nothin'  to  do  with  your  gun, 
boss  —  I  shuah  don't.  She'd  go  'pop/  an'  I  wouldn't  be 
heah  no  more ! 

"  I  didn't  reco'nize  you  in  them  heathen  clo's  you  had 
on  yesterday,  boss;  but  I  minds  you  with  them  duds  on. 
I  knows  you;  you're  *  Squint'  Taylor,  of  Dawes.  I've 
seen  you  on  that  big  black  hoss  of  yourn,  a  prancin'  an'  a 
prancin'  through  town  —  more'n  once  I've  seen  you.  But 
I  didn't  know  you  in  them  heathen  clo's  yesterday,  boss  — 
'deed  I  didn't!" 

Later  the  porter  slipped  into  the  compartment.  For  a 
minute  or  two  he  fussed  around  the  room,  setting  things 
to  order,  meanwhile  chuckling  to  himself.  Occasionally 
he  would  cease  his  activities  long  enough  to  slap  a  knee 
with  the  palm  of  a  hand,  with  which  movement  he  would 
seem  to  be  convulsed  with  merriment,  and  then  he  would 
resume  work,  chuckling  audibly. 


THE  UNEXPECTED 39 

For  a  time  Taylor  took  no  notice  of  his  antics,  but  they 
assailed  his  consciousness  presently,  and  finally  he  asked : 

"What's  eating  you,  George?" 

The  query  was  evidently  just  what  "George"  had 
been  waiting  for.  For  now  he  turned  and  looked  at  Tay 
lor,  his  face  solemn,  but  a  white  gleam  of  mirth  in  his 
eyes  belying  the  solemnity. 

" Tips  is  comin'  easy  for  George  this  mornin',"  he  said; 
"they  shuah  is.  No  trouble  at  all.  If  a  man  wants  to 
get  tips  all  he  has  to  be  is  a  dictionary  —  he,  he,  he! " 

"  So  you're  a  dictionary,  eh  ?  Well,  explain  the  mean 
ing  of  this."  And  he  tossed  a  silver  dollar  to  the  other. 

The  dollar  in  hand,  George  tilted  his  head  sidewise  at 
pTaylor. 

"  How  on  earth  you  know  I  got  somethin'  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"How  do  I  know  I've  got  two  hands?" 

"  By  lookin'  at  them,  boss." 

"  Well,  that's  how  I  know  you've  got  something  to  tell 
me — by  looking  at  you." 

The  porter  chuckled.  "I  reckon  it's  worth  a  dollar 
to  have  a  young  lady  interested  in  you,"  he  told  himself 
in  a  confidential  voice,  without  looking  at  Taylor;  "yas- 
sir,  it's  sure  worth  a  dollar."  He  slapped  his  knee  de 
lightedly.  "That  young  lady  a  heap  interested  in  you, 
'pears  like.  While  ago  she  pens  me  in  a  corner  of  the 
platform.  '  Porter,  who's  that  man  in  the  smoking-com- 
partment  —  that  cowboy?  What's  his  name,  an'  where 


40 


does  he  live?'  I  hesitates,  'cause  I  didn't  want  to  betray 
no  secrets  —  an'  scratch  my  haid.  Then  she  pop  half  a 
dollar  in  my  hand,  an'  I  tole  her  you  are  Squint  Taylor, 
an'  that  you  own  the  Arrow  ranch,  not  far  from  Dawes. 
An'  she  thank  me  an'  go  away,  grmnin'." 

"And  the  young  lady,  George;  do  you  knjw  her 
name?" 

"  Them  men  she's  travelin'  with  calls  her  Marion,  boss." 

He  peered  intently  at  Taylor  for  signs  of  interest.  He 
saw  no  such  signs,  and  after  a  while,  noting  that  Taylor 
seemed  preoccupied,  and  was  evidently  no  longer  aware 
of  his  presence,  he  slipped  out  noiselessly. 

At  nine  thirty,  Taylor,  looking  out  of  the  car  window, 
noted  that  the  country  was  growing  familiar.  Fifteen 
minutes  later  the  porter  stuck  his  head  in  between  the 
curtains,  saw  that  Taylor  was  still  absorbed,  and  with 
drew.  At  nine  fifty-five  the  porter  entered  the  com 
partment. 

"We'll  be  in  Dawes  in  five  minutes,  boss,"  he  said. 
"  I've  toted  your  baggage  to  the  door." 

The  porter  withdrew,  and  a  little  later  Taylor  got  up 
and  went  out  into  the  aisle.  At  the  far  end  of  the  car, 
near  the  door,  he  saw  Marion  Harlan,  Parsons,  and 
Carrington. 

He  did  not  want  to  meet  them  again  after  what  had 
occurred  in  the  diner,  and  he  cast  a  glance  toward  the 
door  behind  him,  hoping  that  the  porter  had  carried  his 


THE  UNEXPECTED 41 

baggage  to  that  end  of  the  car.  But  the  platform  was 
empty — his  suitcase  was  at  the  other  end. 

He  slipped  into  a  seat  on  the  side  of  the  train  that  would 
presently  disclose  to  him  a  view  of  Dawes's  depot,  and 
of  Dawes  itself,  leaned  an  elbow  on  the  window-sill,  and 
waited.  Apparently  the  three  persons  at  the  other  end  of 
the  car  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  glancing  sidelong 
once  he  saw  the  girl  throw  an  interested  glance  at  him. 

And  then  the  air-brakes  hissed;  he  felt  the  train  slow 
ing  down,  and  he  got  up  and  walked  slowly  toward  the 
girl  and  her  companions.  At  about  the  same  instant  she 
and  the  others  began  to  move  toward  the  door;  so  that 
when  the  train  came  to  a  stop  they  were  on  the  car  plat 
form  by  the  time  Taylor  reached  the  door.  And  by  the 
time  he  stepped  out  upon  the  car  platform  the  girl  and 
her  friends  were  on  the  station  platform,  their  baggage 
piled  at  their  feet. 

Dawes's  depot  was  merely  a  roofless  platform;  and 
there  was  no  shelter  from  the  glaring  white  sun  that 
flooded  it.  The  change  from  the  subdued  light  of  the 
coach  to  the  shimmering,  blinding  glare  of  the  sun  on 
the  wooden  planks  of  the  platform  affected  Taylor's  eyes, 
and  he  was  forced  to  look  downward  as  he  alighted.  And 
then,  not  looking  up,  he  went  to  the  baggage-car  and 
pulled  his  two  prisoners  out. 

Looking  up  as  he  walked  down  the  platform  with  the 
two  men,  he  saw  a  transformed  Dawes. 


42 THE  RANCHMAN 

The  little,  frame  station  building  had  been  a  red,  dingy 
blot  beside  the  glistening  rails  that  paralleled  the  town. 
It  was  now  gaily  draped  with  bunting — red,  white,  and 
blue — which  he  recognized  as  having  been  used  on  the 
occasion  of  the  town's  anniversary  celebration. 

A  big  American  flag  topped  the  ridge  of  the  sta 
tion;  other  flags  projected  from  various  angles  of  the 
frame. 

Most  of  the  town's  other  buildings  were  replicas  of  the 
station  in  the  matter  of  decorations — festoons  of  bunt 
ing  ran  here  and  there  from  building  to  building;  broad 
bands  of  it  were  stretched  across  the  fronts  of  other  build 
ings;  gay  loops  of  it  crossed  the  street,  suspended  to  form 
triumphal  arches;  flags,  wreaths  of  laurel,  Japanese  lan 
terns,  and  other  paraphernalia  of  the  decorator's  art  were 
everywhere. 

Down  the  street  near  the  Castle  Hotel,  Taylor  saw 
transparencies,  but  he  could  not  make  out  the  words  on 
them. 

He  grinned,  for  certainly  the  victor  of  yesterday's 
election  was  outdoing  himself. 

He  looked  into  the  face  of  a  man  who  stood  near  him 
on  the  platform  —  who  answered  his  grin. 

"Our  new  mayor  is  celebrating  in  style,  eh?"  he  said. 

"  Right ! "  declared  the  man. 

He  was  about  to  ask  the  man  which  candidate  had  been 
victorious  —  though  he  was  certain  it  was  Neil  Norton  — 


THE  UNEXPECTED 


when  he  saw  Marion  Harlan,  standing  a  little  distance 
from  him,  smiling  at  him. 

It  was  a  broad,  impersonal  smile,  such  as  one  citizen 
of  a  town  might  exchange  with  another  when  both  are 
confronted  with  the  visible  evidences  of  political  victory; 
and  Taylor  responded  to  it  with  one  equally  impersonal. 
Whereat  the  girl's  smile  faded,  and  her  gaze,  still  upon 
Taylor,  became  speculative.  Its  quality  told  Taylor  that 
he  should  not  presume  upon  the  smile. 

Taylor  had  no  intention  of  presuming  anything.  Not 
even  the  porter's  story  of  the  girl's  interest  in  him  had 
affected  him  to  the  extent  of  fatuous  imaginings.  A 
woman's  curiosity,  he  supposed,  had  led  her  to  inquire 
about  him.  He  expected  she  rarely  saw  men  arrayed  as 
he  was  —  and  as  he  had  been  arrayed  the  day  before. 

The  girl's  gaze  went  from  Taylor  to  the  street  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  station,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  alighting  on  the  platform  Taylor  saw  a  mass  of 
people  near  him. 

Looking  sharply  at  them,  he  saw  many  faces  in  the 
mass  that  he  knew.  They  all  seemed  to  be  looking  at  him 
and,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  stroke  came  to  him  the 
consciousness  that  there  was  no  sound  —  that  silence,  deep 
and  unusual,  reigned  in  Dawes.  The  train,  usually  merely 
stopping  at  the  station  and  then  resuming  its  trip,  was 
still  standing  motionless  behind  him.  With  a  sidelong 
glance  he  saw  the  train-crew  standing  near  the  steps  of 


44 THE  RANCHMAN 

the  cars,  looking  at  him.  The  porter  and  the  waiter  witij 
whose  faces  he  was  familiar,  were  grinning  at  him. 

Taylor  felt  that  his  own  grin,  as  he  gazed  around  at  the 
faces  that  were  all  turned  toward  him,  was  vacuous  and 
foolish.  He  felt  foolish.  For  he  knew  something  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  all  these  people  to  him,  and  he 
had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  it  was.  For  an  instant 
he  feared  that  through  some  mental  lapse  he  had  forgotten 
to  remove  his  "dude"  clothing;  and  he  looked  down  at 
his  trousers  and  felt  of  his  shirt,  to  reassure  himself. 
And  he  gravely  and  intently  looked  at  his  prisoners,  won 
dering  if  by  any  chance  some  practical  joker  of  the  town 
had  arranged  the  train  robbery  for  his  special  benefit. 
If  that  were  the  explanation  it  had  been  grim  hoax  — 
for  two  men  had  been  killed  in  the  fight. 

Looking  up  again,  he  saw  that  the  grins  on  the  faces 
of  the  people  around  him  had  grown  broader — >and  sev 
eral  loud  guffaws  of  laughter  reached  his  ears.  He  looked 
at  Marion  Harlan,  and  saw  a  puzzled  expression  on  her 
face.  Carrington,  too,  was  looking  at  him,  and  Parsons, 
whose  smile  was  a  smirk  of  perplexity. 

Taylor  reddened  with  embarrassment.  A  resentment 
that  grew  swiftly  to  an  angry  intolerance,  seized  him. 
He  straightened,  squared  his  shoulders,  thrust  out  his 
chin,  and  shoving  his  prisoners  before  him,  took  several 
long  strides  across  the  station  platform. 

This  movement  brought  him  close  to  Marion  Harlan 


THE  UNEXPECTED 45 

and  her  friends,  and  his  further  progress  was  barred  by 
a  man  who  placed  a  hand  against  his  chest. 

This  man,  too,  was  grinning.  He  seized  Taylor's 
shoulders  with  both  hands  and  looked  into  his  face,  the 
grin  on  his  own  broad  and  expanding. 

"Welcome  home — you  old  son-of-a-gun ! "  said  the 
man. 

His  grin  was  infectious  and  Taylor  answered  it,  drop 
ping  his  suitcase  and  looking  the  other  straight  in  the 
eyes. 

"Norton,"  he  said,  "what  in  hell  is  the  cause  of  all 
this  staring  at  me?  Can't  a  man  leave  town  for  a  few 
days  and  come  back  without  everybody  looking  at  him 
as  though  he  were  a  curiosity?" 

Norton  —  a  tall,  slender,  sinewy  man  with  broad  shoul 
ders —  laughed  aloud  and  deliberately  winked  at  several 
interested  citizens  who  had  followed  Taylor's  progress 
across  the  platform,  and  who  now  stood  near  him, 
grinning. 

"You  are  a  curiosity,  man.  You're  the  first  mayor 
of  this  man's  town!  Lordy,"  he  said  to  the  surrounding 
faces,  ft  he  hasn't  tumbled  to  it  yet ! " 

The  color  left  Taylor's  face;  he  stared  hard  at  Noxten; 
he  gazed  in  bewilderment  at  the  faces  near  him. 

"Mayor?"  he  said.  "Why,  good  Lord,  man,  I  wasn't 
here  yesterday ! " 

"  But  your  friends  were ! "  yelped  the  delighted  Norton. 


46  THE  RANCHMAN 

He  raised  his  voice,  so  that  it  reached  far  into  the  crowd 
on  the  street : 

"He's  sort  of  fussed  up,  boys;  this  honor  being  con 
ferred  on  him  so  sudden ;  but  give  him  time  and  he'll  talk 
your  heads  off ! "  He  leaned  over  to  Taylor  and  whis 
pered  in  his  ear. 

"  Grin,  man,  for  God's  sake !  Don't  stand  there  like  a 
wooden  man;  they'll  think  you  don't  appreciate  it!  It's 
the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you  lose  your  nerve.  Buck  up, 
man;  why,  they  simply  swamped  Danforth;  wiped  him 
clean  off  the  map ! " 

Norton  was  whispering  more  into  Taylor's  ear,  but 
Taylor  could  not  follow  the  sequence  of  it,  nor  get  a 
coherent  meaning  out  of  it.  He  even  doubted  that  he 
heard  Norton.  He  straightened,  and  looked  around  at 
the  crowd  that  now  was  pressing  in  on  him,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  knew  the  mental  panic  and  the 
physical  sickness  that  overtakes  the  man  who  for  the 
first  time  faces  an  audience  whose  eyes  are  focused  on 
him. 

For  a  bag  of  gold  as  big  as  the  mountains  that  loomed 
over  the  distant  southern  horizon  he  could  not  have  said 
a  word  to  the  crowd.  But  he  did  succeed  in  grinning  at 
the  faces  around  him,  and  at  that  the  crowd  yelled. 

And  just  before  the  crowd  closed  in  on  him  and  he 
began  to  shake  hands  with  his  delighted  supporters,  he 
glanced  at  Marion  Harlan.  She  was  looking  at  him  with 


THE  UNEXPECTED  47 

a  certain  sober  interest,  though  he  was  sure  that  back  in 
her  eyes  was  a  sort  of  humorous  malice  —  which  had, 
however,  a  softening  quality  of  admiration  and,  perhaps, 
gratitude. 

His  gaze  went  from  her  to  Carrington.  The  big  man 
was  watching  him  with  a  veiled  sneer  which,  when  he  met 
Taylor's  eyes,  grew  open  and  unmistakable. 

Taylor  grinned  broadly  at  him,  for  now  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  would  be  able  to  thwart  Carrington's  designs 
of  "getting  hold  of  the  reins."  His  grin  at  Carrington 
was  a  silent  challenge,  and  so  the  other  interpreted  it, 
for  his  sneer  grew  positively  venomous. 

The  girl  caught  the  exchange  of  glances  between  them, 
for  Taylor  heard  her  say  to  Parsons,  just  before  the 
noise  of  the  crowd  drowned  her  voice: 

"  Now  I  know  he  overheard  you !  " 

Meanwhile,  the  two  prisoners  were  standing  near 
Taylor.  Taylor  had  almost  forgotten  them.  He  was 
reminded  of  their  presence  when  he  saw  Keats,  the  sheriff, 
standing  near  him.  At  just  the  instant  Taylor  looked  at 
Keats,  the  latter  was  critically  watching  the  prisoners. 

Keats  and  Taylor  had  had  many  differences  of  opinion, 
for  the  sheriff's  official  actions  had  not  merited  nor  re 
ceived  Taylor's  approval.  Taylor's  attitude  toward  the 
man  had  always  been  that  of  good-natured  banter,  despite 
the  disgust  he  felt  for  the  man.  And  now,  pursuing  his 
customary  attitude,  Taylor  called  to  him : 


48 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  Specimens,  eh !  Picked  them  up  at  Toban's  this 
morning.  They  yearned  to  hold  up  the  train.  There 
were  four,  all  together,  but  we  had  to  put  two  out  of 
business.  I  came  pretty  near  forgetting  them.  If  I 
hadn't  seen  you  just  now,  maybe  I  would  have  walked 
right  off  and  left  them  here.  Take  them  to  jail,  Keats." 
Keats  advanced.  He  met  Taylor's  eyes  and  his  lips 
curved  with  a  sneer: 

"  Pullin'  off  a  little  grand-stand  play,  eh !  Well,  it's 
a  mighty  clever  idea.  First  you  get  elected  mayor,  an' 
then  you  come  in  here,  draggin'  along  a  couple  of  mean- 
lookin'  hombres,  an'  say  they've  tried  to  hold  up  the  train 
at  Toban's.  It  sounds  mighty  fishy  to  me! " 

Taylor  laughed.  He  heard  a  chuckle  behind  him,  and 
he  turned,  to  see  Carrington  grinning  significantly  at 
Keats.  Taylor's  eyes  chilled  as  his  gaze  went  from  one 
man  to  the  other,  for  the  exchange  of  glances  told  him 
that  between  the  men  there  was  a  common  interest,  which 
would  link  them  together  against  him.  And  in  the  dead 
silence  that  followed  Keats's  words,  Taylor  drawled, 
grinning  coldly: 

"  Meaning  that  I'm  a  liar,  Keats? " 
His  voice  was  gentle,  and  his  shoulders  seemed  to  droop 
a  little  as  though  in  his  mind  was  a  desire  to  placate 
Keats.  But  there  were  men  in  Dawes  who  had  seen 
Taylor  work  his  guns,  and  these  held  their  breath  and 
began  to  shove  backward.  That  slow,  drooping  of 


THE  UNEXPECTED 49 

Taylor's  shoulders  was  a  danger  signal,  a  silent  warning 
that  Taylor  was  ready  for  action,  swift  and  violent. 

And  faces  around  Taylor  whitened  as  the  man  stood 
there  facing  Keats,  his  shoulders  drooping  still  lower, 
the  smile  on  his  face  becoming  one  of  cold,  grim  mockery. 

The  discomfiture  of  Keats  was  apparent.  Indecision 
and  fear  were  in  the  set  of  his  head  —  bowed  a  little; 
and  a  dread  reluctance  was  in  his  shifting  eyes  and  the 
pasty-white  color  of  his  face.  It  was  plain  that  Keats 
had  overplayed;  he  had  not  intended  to  arouse  the  latent 
tiger  in  Taylor;  he  had  meant  merely  to  embarrass  him. 

"  Meaning  that  I'm  a  liar,  Keats?  " 

Again  Taylor's  voice  was  gentle,  though  this  time  it 
carried  a  subtle  taunt. 

Desperately  harried,  Keats  licked  his  hot  lips  and  cast 
a  sullen  glance  around  at  the  crowd.  Then  his  gaze  went 
to  Taylor's  face,  and  he  drew  a  slow  breath. 

"  I  reckon  I  wasn't  meanin'  just  that,"  he  said. 

"Of  course,"  smiled  Taylor;  "that's  no  way  for  a 
sheriff  to  act.  Take  them  in,  Keats,"  he  added,  waving 
a  hand  at  the  prisoners ;  "  it's  been  so  long  since  the  sheriff 
of  this  county  arrested  a  man  that  the  jail's  gettin'  tired, 
yawning  for  somebody  to  get  into  it." 

He  turned  his  back  on  Keats  and  looked  straight  at 
Carrington : 

"Have  you  got  any  ideas  along  the  sheriff's  line?"  he 
asked. 


THE  RANCHMAN 


Carrington  flushed  and  his  lips  went  into  a  sullen  pout. 
He  did  not  speak,  merely  shaking  his  head,  negatively. 

Keats's  glance  at  Taylor  was  malignant  with  hate  ;  and 
Carrington's  sullen,  venomous  look  was  not  unnoticed  by 
the  crowd.  Keats  stepped  forward  and  seized  the  two 
prisoners,  hustling  them  away,  muttering  profanely. 

And  then  Taylor  was  led  away  by  Norton  and  a  com 
mittee  of  citizens,  leaving  Carrington,  the  girl  and  Par 
sons  alone  on  the  platform. 

"  Looks  like  we're  going  to  have  trouble  lining  things 
up,"  remarked  Parsons.  "Danforth  — 

"  You  shut  up  !  "  snapped  Carrington.  "  Danforth's  an 
ass  and  so  are  you  !  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  MAN  MAKES  PLANS 

WITHIN  an  hour  after  his  arrival  in  Dawes,  Car- 
rington  was  sitting  in  the  big  front  room  of  his 
suite  in  the  Castle  Hotel,  inspecting  the  town. 

A  bay  window  projected  over  the  sidewalk,  and  from 
a  big  leather  chair  placed  almost  in  the  center  of  the  bay 
between  two  windows  and  facing  a  third,  at  the  front, 
Carrington  had  a  remarkably  good  view  of  the  town. 

Dawes  was  a  thriving  center  of  activity,  with  reasons 
for  its  prosperity.  Walking  toward  the  Castle  from  the 
railroad  station,  Carrington  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
big  dam  blocking  the  constricted  neck  of  a  wide  basin 
west  of  the  town  —  and  farther  westward  stretched  a 
vast  agricultural  section,  level  as  a  floor,  with  a  carpet 
of  green  slumbering  in  the  white  sunlight,  and  dotted 
with  young  trees  that  seemed  almost  ready  to  bear. 

There  were  many  small  buildings  on  the  big  level,  some 
tenthouses,  and  straight  through  the  level  was  a  wide, 
sparkling  stream  of  water,  with  other  and  smaller  streams 
intersecting  it.  These  streams  were  irrigation  ditches, 
and  the  moisture  in  them  was  giving  life  to  a  vast  section 
of  country  that  had  previously  been  arid  and  dead. 

51 


52 THE  RANCHMAN 

But  Carrington's  interest  had  not  been  so  much  for 
the  land  as  for  the  method  of  irrigation.  To  be  sure,  he 
had  not  stopped  long  to  look,  but  he  had  comprehended 
the  system  at  a  glance.  There  were  locks  and  flumes 
and  water-gates,  and  plenty  of  water.  But  the  irrigation 
company  had  not  completed  its  system.  Carrington 
intended  to  complete  it. 

Dawes  was  two  years  old,  and  it  had  the  appearance  of 
having  been  hastily  constructed.  Its  buildings  were 
mostly  of  frame  —  even  the  Castle,  large  and  pretentious, 
and  the  town's  aristocrat  of  hostelries,  was  of  frame. 
Carrington  smiled,  for  later,  when  he  had  got  himself 
established,  he  intended  to  introduce  an  innovation  in 
building  material. 

The  courthouse  was  a  frame  structure.  It  was  directly 
across  the  street  from  the  Castle,  and  Carrington  could 
look  into  its  windows  and  see  some  men  at  work  inside 
at  desks.  He  had  no  interest  in  the  post  office,  for  that 
was  of  the  national  government  —  and  yet,  perhaps,  after 
a  while  he  might  take  some  interest  in  that. 

For  Carrington's  vision,  though  selfish,  was  broad.  A 
multitude  of  men  of  the  Carrington  type  have  taken  bold 
positions  in  the  eternal  batik  for  progress,  and  all  have 
contributed  something  toward  the  ultimate  ideal.  And 
not  all  have  been  scoundrels. 

Carrington's  vision,  however,  was  blurred  by  the  mote 
of  greed.  Dawes  was  flburishmg;  he  inteocferl  to  mod- 


' A  MAN  MAKES  PLANS 53 

ernize  it,  but  in  the  process  of  modernization  he  intended 
to  be  the  chief  recipient  of  the  material  profits. 

Carrington  had  washed,  shaved  himself,  and  changed 
his  clothes;  and  as  he  sat  in  the  big  leather  chair  in  the 
bay,  overlooking  the  street,  he  looked  smooth,  sleek,  and 
capable. 

He  had  seemed  massive  in  the  Pullman,  wearing  a 
traveling  suit  of  some  light  material,  and  his  corpulent 
waist-line  had  been  somewhat  accentuated. 

The  blue  serge  suit  he  wore  now  made  a  startling 
change  in  his  appearance.  It  made  his  shoulders  seem 
broader;  it  made  the  wide,  swelling  arch  of  his  chest 
more  pronounced,  and  in  inverse  ratio  it  contracted  the 
corpulent  waist-line  —  almost  eliminating  it. 

Carrington  looked  to  be  what  he  was  —  a  big,  virile, 
magnetic  giant  of  a  man  in  perfect  health. 

He  had  not  been  sitting  in  the  leather  chair  for  more 
than  fifteen  minutes  when  there  came  a  knock  on  a  door 
behind  him. 

"  Come !  "  he  commanded. 

A  tall  man  entered,  closed  the  door  behind  him  and 
with  hat  in  hand  stood  looking  at  Carrington  with  a  half- 
smile  which  might  have  been  slightly  diffident,  or  impu 
dent  or  defiant  —  it  was  puzzling. 

Carrington  had  twisted  in  his  chair  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  his  visitor;  he  now  grunted,  resumed  his  former  posi 
tion  and  said,  gruffly: 


THE  RANCHMAN 


"Hello,  Danforth!" 

Danforth  stepped  over  to  the  bay,  and  without  invita 
tion  drew  up  a  chair  and  seated  himself  near  Carrington. 

Danforth  was  slender,  big- framed,  and  sinewy.  His 
shoulders  were  broad  and  his  waist  slim.  There  was  a 
stubborn  thrust  to  his  chin;  his  nose  was  a  trifle  too  long 
to  perfectly  fit  his  face;  his  mouth  a  little  too  big,  and 
the  lips  too  thin.  The  nose  had  a  slight  droop  that  made 
one  think  of  selfishness  and  greed,  and  the  thin  lips,  with 
a  downward  swerve  at  the  corners,  suggested  cruelty. 

These  defects,  however,  were  not  prominent,  for  they 
were  offset  by  a  really  distinguished  head  with  a  mass  of 
short,  curly  hair  that  ruffled  attractively  under  the  brim 
of  the  felt  hat  he  wore. 

The  hat  was  in  his  right  hand,  nowr,  but  it  had  left  its 
impress  on  his  hair,  and  as  he  sat  down  he  ran  his  free 
hand  through  it.  Danforth  knew  where  his  attractions 
were. 

He  grinned  shallowly  at  Carrington  when  the  latter 
turned  and  looked  at  him. 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "I  suppose  you've  heard 
about  it?" 

"  I  couldn't  help  hearing."  Carrington  scowled  at  the 
other.  "What  in  hell  was  wrong?  We  send  you  out 
here,  give  you  more  than  a  year's  time  and  all  the  money 
you  want  —  which  has  been  plenty  —  and  then  you  lose. 
What  in  the  devil  was  the  matter?" 


A  MAN  MAKES  PLANS  55 

"Too  much  Taylor,"  smirked  the  other. 

"But  what  else?" 

"Nothing  else  —  just  Taylor." 

Carrington  exclaimed  profanely. 

"  Why,  the  man  didn't  even  know  he  was  a  candidate ! 
He  was  on  the  train  I  came  in  on ! " 

"  It  was  Neil  Norton's  scheme,"  explained  Danforth. 
"I  had  him  beaten  to  a  frazzle.  I  suppose  he  knew  it. 
Two  days  before  election  he  suddenly  withdrew  his  name 
and  substituted  Taylor's.  You  know  what  happened. 
He  licked  me  two  to  one.  He  was  too  popular  for  me  — 
damn  him! 

"Norton  owns  a  newspaper  here  —  the  only  one  in 
the  county  —  the  Eagle." 

"  Why  didn't  you  buy  him?" 

Danforth  grinned  sarcastically:  "I  didn't  feel  that 
reckless." 

"Honest,  eh?" 

Carrington  rested  his  chin  in  the  palm  of  his  right  hand 
and  scowled  into  the  street.  He  was  convinced  that  Dan 
forth  had  done  everything  he  could  to  win  the  election, 
and  he  was  bitterly  chagrined  over  the  result.  But  that 
result  was  not  the  dominating  thought  in  his  mind.  He 
kept  seeing  Taylor  as  the  latter  had  stood  on  the  sta 
tion  platform,  stunned  with  surprise  over  the  knowledge 
that  he  had  been  so  signally  honored  by  the  people  of 
Dawes. 


56 THE  RANCHMAN 

And  Carrington  had  seen  Marion  Harlan's  glances  at 
the  man;  he  had  been  aware  of  the  admiring  smile  she 
had  given  Taylor ;  and  bitter  passion  gripped  Carrington 
at  the  recollection  of  the  smile. 

More  —  he  had  seen  Taylor's  face  when  the  girl  had 
smiled.  The  smile  had  thrilled  Taylor  — it  had  held 
promise  for  him,  and  Carrington  knew  it. 

Carrington  continued  to  stare  out  into  the  street.  Dan- 
f orth  watched  him  furtively,  in  silence. 

At  last,  not  opening  his  lips,  Carrington  spoke : 

"Tell  me  about  this  man,  Taylor." 

''  Taylor  owns  the  Arrow  ranch,  in  the  basin  south  of 
here.  His  ranch  covers  about  twenty  thousand  acres.  He 
has  a  clear  title. 

"According  to  report,  he  employs  about  thirty  men. 
They  are  holy  terrors  —  that  is,  they  are  what  is  called 
'  hard  cases,'  though  they  are  not  outlaws  by  any  means. 
Just  a  devil-may-care  bunch  that  raises  hell  when  it  strikes 
town.  They  swear  by  Taylor." 

So  far  as  Carrington  could  see,  everybody  in  Dawes 
swore  by  Taylor.  Carrington  grimaced. 

"  That  isn't  what  I  want  to  know,"  he  flared.  "  How 
long  has  he  been  here;  what  kind  of  a  fellow  is  he?" 

"  Taylor  owned  the  Arrow  before  Dawes  was  founded. 
When  the  railroad  came  through  it  brought  with  it  some 
land-sharks  that  tried  to  frame  up  on  the  ranch-owners  in 
the  vicinity.  It  was  a  slick  scheme,  they  tell  me.  They 


A  MAN  MAKES  PLANS 57 

had  clouded  every  title,  and  figured  to  grab  the  whole 
county,  it  seems. 

"Taylor  went  after  them.  People  I've  talked  witH 
here  say  it  was  a  dandy  shindy  while  it  lasted.  The  land- 
grabbers  brought  the  courts  in,  and  a  crooked  judge. 
Taylor  fought  them,  crooked  judge  and  all,  to  a  bite-the- 
dust  finish.  Toward  the  end  it  was  a  free-for-all  —  and 
the  land-grabbers  were  chased  out  of  the  county. 

"  Naturally,  the  folks  around  here  think  a  lot  of  Taylor  • 
for  the  part  he  played  in  the  deal.  Besides  that,  he'sl 
a  man  that  makes  friends  quickly  —  and  holds  them." 

"Has  Taylor  any  interests  besides  his  ranch?" 

"A  share  in  the  water  company,  I  believe.  He  owns 
some  land  in  town;  and  he  is  usually  on  all  the  public 
committees  here." 

"About  thirty,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"Twenty-eight."  j 

Carrington  looked  at  the  other  with  a  sidelong,  sneering 
grin: 

"Have  any  ladies  come  into  his  young  life?" 

Danforth  snickered.  "You've  got  me  —  I  hadn't  in 
quired.  He  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  of  a  ladies'  man, 
though,  I  take  it.  Doesn't  seem  to  have  time  to  monkey 
with  them." 

"  H-m ! "  Carrington's  lips  went  into  a  pout  as  he 
stared  straight  ahead  of  him. 

Danforth  at  last  broke  a  long  silence  with: 


58 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  Well,  we  got  licked,  all  right.  What's  going  to  hap 
pen  now?  Are  you  going  to  quit?" 

"Quit?"  Carrington  snapped  the  word  at  the  other, 
his  eyes  flaming  with  rage.  Then  he  laughed,  mirthlessly, 
resuming:  "This  defeat  was  unexpected;  I  wasn't  set 
'for  it.  But  it  won't  alter  things  —  very  much.  I'll  have 
to  shake  a  leg,  that's  all.  What  time  does  the  next  train 
leave  here  for  the  capital  ?  " 

"At  two  o'clock  this  afternoon."  Danforth's  eyes 
widened  as  he  looked  at  Carrington.  The  curiosity  in  his 
jglance  caused  Carrington  to  laugh  shortly. 

"You  don't  mean  that  the  governor  is  in  this  thing?" 
said  Dan  forth. 

1     "  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  Carrington.    "  Bah !    Do  you 
think  I  came  in  with  my  eyes  closed ! " 

There  was  a  new  light  in  Danforth's  eyes  —  the  flame 
of  renewed  hope. 

"  Then  we've  still  got  a  chance,"  he  declared. 

Carrington  laughed.  "A  too-popular  mayor  is  not  a 
good  thing  for  a  town,"  he  said  significantly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST 

1\  /|~ARION  HARLAN  and  her  uncle,  Elam  Parsons, 
•1.  v  -I.  did  not  accompany  Carrington  to  the  Castle  Hotel., 
By  telegraph,  through  Dan  forth,  Carrington  had  bought 
a  house  near  Dawes,  and  shortly  after  Quinton  Taylor 
left  the  station  platform  accompanied  by  his  friends  and 
admirers,  Marion  and  her  uncle  were  in  a  buckboard  rid 
ing  toward  the  place  that,  henceforth,  was  to  be  their 
home. 

For  that  question  had  been  settled  before  the  party  left 
Westwood.  Parsons  had  declared  his  future  activities 
were  to  be  centered  in  Dawes,  that  he  had  no  further 
interests  to  keep  him  in  Westwood,  and  that  he  intended 
to  make  his  home  in  Dawes. 

Certainly  Marion  had  few  interests  in  the  town  that 
had  been  the  scene  of  the  domestic  tragedy  that  had  left 
her  parentless.  She  was  glad  to  get  away.  For  though 
she  had  not  been  to  blame  for  what  had  happened,  she 
was  painfully  conscious  of  the  stares  that  followed  her 
everywhere,  and  aware  of  the  morbid  curiosity  with 
which  her  neighbors  regarded  her.  Also  —  through  the 
medium  of  certain  of  her  "  friends,"  she  had  become 

59 


60 THE  RANCHMAN 

cognizant  of  speculative  whisperings,  such  as :  "  To  think 
of  being  brought  up  like  that?  Do  you  think  she  will  be 
like  her  mother?"  Or  —  "What's  bred  in  the  bone,  ct 
cetera." 

Perhaps  these  good  people  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind ; 
certainly  the  crimson  stains  that  colored  the  girl's  cheeks 
when  she  passed  them  should  have  won  their  charity  and 
their  silence. 

There  was  nothing  in  Westwood  for  her;  and  so  she 

yvas  glad  to  get  away.    And  the  trip  westward  toward 

;  Dawes  opened  a  new  vista  of  life  to  her.    She  was  leav- 

'  ing  the  old  and  the  tragic  and  adventuring  into  the  new 

&nd  promising,  where  she  could  face  life  without  the  onus 

Ib'f  a  shame  that  had  not  been  hers. 

Before  she  was  half  way  to  Dawes  she  had  forgotten 

,\Vestwood  and  its  wagging  tongues.     She  alone,  of  all 

». 

'the  passengers  in  the  Pullman,  had  not  been  aware  of  the 

heat  and  the  discomfort.  She  had  loved  every  foot  of  the 
great  prairie  land  that,  green  and  beautiful,  had  flashed 
past  the  car  window ;  she  had  gazed  with  eager,  interested 
eyes  into  the  far  reaches  of  the  desert  through  which  she 
had  passed,  filling  her  soul  with  the  mystic  beauty  of  this 
new  world,  reveling  in  its  vastness  and  in  the  atmosphere 
of  calm  that  seemed  to  engulf  it. 

Dawes  had  not  disappointed  her;  on  the  contrary,  she 
loved  it  at  first  sight.  For  though  Dawes  was  new  and 
crude,  it  looked  rugged  and  honest  —  and  rather  too 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST  61 

busy  to  hesitate  for  the  purpose  of  indulging  in  gossip  — 
idle  or  otherwise.  Dawes,  she  was  certain,  was  occupying 
itself  with  progress  —  a  thing  that,  long  since,  Westwood 
had  forgotten. 

Five  minutes  after  she  had  entered  the  buckboard,  the 
spirit  of  this  new  world  had  seized  upon  the  girl  and 
she  was  athrob  and  atingle  with  the  joy  of  it.  It  filled 
her  veins;  it  made  her  cheeks  flame  and  her  eyes  dance. 
And  the  strange  aroma  —  the  pungent  breath  of  the  sage, 
borne  to  her  on  the  slight  breeze  —  she  drew  into  her 
lungs  with  great  long  breaths  that  seemed  to  intoxicate 
her. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed  delightedly,  "  isn't  it  great !  Oh, 
I  love  it!" 

Elam  Parsons  grinned  at  her  —  the  habitual  smirk  with 
which  he  recognized  all  emotion  not  his  own. 

"It  does  look  like  a  good  field  for  business,"  he 
conceded. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  quickly,  divined  the  sordidness 
of  his  thoughts,  and  puckered  her  brows  in  a  frown.  And 
thereafter  she  enjoyed  the  esthetic  beauties  of  her  world 
without  seeking  confirmation  from  her  uncle. 

Her  delight  grew  as  the  journey  to  the  new  home  pro 
gressed.  She  saw  the  fertile  farming  country  stretching 
far  in  the  big  section  of  country  beyond  the  water-filled 
basin;  her  eyes  glowed  as  the  irrigation  ditches,  with 
their  locks  arfcl  gates,  came  under  Her  observation;  and 


62  THE  RANCHMAN 

she  sat  silent,  awed  by  the  mightiness  of  it  all  —  the  tall, 
majestic  mountains  looming  somberly  many  miles  dis 
tant  behind  a  glowing  mist  —  like  a  rose  veil  or  a  gauze 
curtain  lowered  to  partly  conceal  the  mystic  beauty  of 
them. 

Intervening  were  hills  and  flats  and  draws  and  valleys, 
and  miles  and  miles  of  level  grass  land,  green  and  peace 
ful  in  the  shimmering  sunlight  that  came  from  some 
where  near  the  center  of  the  big,  pale-blue  inverted  bowl 
of  sky;  she  caught  the  silvery  glitter  of  a  river  that  wound 
its  way  through  the  country  like  a  monstrous  serpent ;  she 
saw  dark  blotches,  miles  long,  which  she  knew  were  for 
ests,  for  she  could  see  the  spires  of  trees  thrusting  upward. 
But  from  where  she  rode  the  trees  seemed  to  be  no  larger 
ithan  bushes. 

Looking  backward,  she  could  see  Dawes.  Already  the 
buckboard  had  traveled  two  or  three  miles,  but  the  town 
seemed  near,  and  she  had  quite  a  shock  when  she  looked 
back  at  it  and  saw  the  buildings,  mere  huddled  shanties, 
spoiling  the  beauty  of  her  picture. 

A  mile  or  so  farther  —  four  miles  altogether,  Parsons 
told  her  —  and  they  came  in  sight  of  a  house.  She  had 
difficulty  restraining  her  delight  when  they  climbed  out 
of  the  buckboard  and  Parsons  told  her  the  place  was  to 
be  their  permanent  home.  For  it  was  such  a  house  as 
she  had  longed  to  live  in  all  the  days  of  her  life. 

The  first  impression  it  gave  her  was  that  of  spacious- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST 63 

ness.  For  though  only  one  story  in  height,  the  house 
contained  many  rooms.  Those,  however,  she  saw  later. 

The  exterior  was  what  intrigued  her  interest  at  first 
glance.  So  far  as  she  knew,  it  was  the  only  brick  build 
ing  in  the  country.  She  had  seen  none  such  in  Dawes. 

There  was  a  big  porch  across  the  front;  the  windows 
were  large;  there  were  vines  and  plants  thriving  in  the 
shade  from  some  big  cottonwood  trees  near  by  —  in  fact, 
the  house  seemed  to  have  been  built  in  a  grove  of  the 
giant  trees;  there  were  several  outhouses,  one  of  which! 
had  chickens  in  an  enclosure  near  it;  there  was  a  garden, 
well-kept;  and  the  girl  saw  that  back  of  the  house  ran 
a  little  stream  which  flowed  sharply  downward,  later 
to  tumble  into  the  big  basin  far  below  the  irrigation 
dam. 

While  Parsons  was  superintending  the  unloading  ej 
the  buckboard,  Marion  explored  the  house.  It  was  com 
pletely  furnished,  and  her  eyes  glowed  with  pleasure  a$ 
she  inspected  it.  And  when  Parsons  and  the  driver  were 
carrying  the  baggage  in  she  was  outside  the  house,  stand- 
ing  at  the  edge  of  a  butte  whose  precipitous  walls  de-* 
scended  sharply  to  the  floor  of  the  irrigation  basin,  twd 
or  three  hundred  feet  below.  She  could  no  longer  see  the 
cultivated  level,  with  its  irrigation  ditches,  but  she  could 
see  the  big  dam,  a  mile  or  so  up  the  valley  toward  Dawes^ 
with  the  water  creeping  over  it,  and  the  big  valley  itself, 
slumbering  in  the  pure,  white  light  of  the  morning. 


THE  RANCHMAN 


She  went  inside,  slightly  awed,  and  Parsons,  noting  her 
excitement,  smirked  at  her.  She  left  him  and  went  to 
her  room.  Emerging  later  she  discovered  that  Parsons 
was  not  in  the  house.  She  saw  him,  however,  at  a  dis 
tance,  looking  out  into  the  valley. 

And  then,  in  the  kitchen,  Marion  came  upon  the  house 
keeper,  a  negro  woman  of  uncertain  age.  Parsons  had 
not  told  her  there  was  to  be  a  housekeeper. 

The  negro  woman  grinned  broadly  at  her  astonishment. 

"Lawsey,  ma'am;  you  jes'  got  to  have  a  housekeeper, 
I  reckon  !  How  you  ever  git  along  without  a  housekeeper  ? 
You're  too  fine  an'  dainty  to  keep  house  you'self  !  " 

The  woman's  name,  the  latter  told  her,  was  Martha, 
and  there  was  honest  delight  —  and,  it  seemed  to  Marion, 
downright  relief  in  her  eyes  when  she  looked  at  the  new- 
mistress. 

"You  ain't  got  no  'past/  that's  certain,  honey,"  she 
declared,  with  a  delighted  smile.  "  The  woman  that  lived 
here  befo'  had  a  past,  honey.  "N  man  named  Huggins 
lived  in  this  house,  an'  she  said  she's  his  wife.  Wife! 
Lawsey!  No  man  has  a  wife  like  that!  She  had  a  past, 
that  woman,  an'  mebbe  a  present,  too  —  he,  he,  he  ! 

"  He  was  the  man  what  put  the  railroad  through  here, 
honey.  I  done  hear  the  woman  say  —  her  name  was 
Blanche,  honey  —  that  Huggins  was  one  of  them  ultra 
rich.  But  whatever  it  was  that  ailed  him,  honey,  didn't 
help  his  looks  none.  Pig-eye,  I  used  to  call  him,  when 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  PAST 


I'se  mad  at  him  —  which  was  mostly  all  the  time  —  he, 
he,  he!" 

The  girl's  face  whitened.  Was  she  never  to  escape  the 
atmosphere  she  loathed?  She  shuddered  and  Martha 
patted  her  sympathetically  on  the  shoulder. 

"There,  there,  honey;  you  ain't  'sponsible  for  other 
folks'  affairs.  Jes'  you  hold  you'  head  up  an*  go  about 
you'  business.  Nobody  say  anything  to  you  because  you' 
livin'  here." 

But  Martha's  words  neither  comforted  nor  consoled 
the  girl.  She  went  again  to  her  room  and  sat  for  a  long 
time,  looking  out  of  a  window.  For  now  all  the  cheer 
had  gone  out  of  the  house;  the  rooms  looked  dull  and 
dreary — and  empty,  as  of  something  gone  out  o£  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CONCERNING  "  SQUINT  " 

MARION  HARLAN  had  responded  eagerly  to  Car- 
rington's  fabrication  regarding  the  rumor  of 
Lawrence  Harlan's  presence  in  Dawes.  Carrington's  ref 
erence  to  her  father's  sojourn  in  the  town  had  been  vague 
—  he  merely  told  her  that  a  rumor  had  reached  him  —  a 
man's  word,  without  details  —  and  she  had  accepted  it 
at  its  face  value.  She  was  impatient  to  run  the  rumor 
down,  to  personally  satisfy  herself,  and  she  believed 
Carrington. 

But  she  spent  a  fruitless  week  interrogating  people  in 
Dawes.  She  had  gone  to  the  courthouse,  there  to  pass 
long  hours  searching  the  records  —  and  had  found  noth 
ing.  Then,  systematically,  she  had  gone  from  store  to 
store  —  making  small  purchases  and  quizzing  everyone 
she  came  in  contact  with.  None  had  known  a  man  named 
Harlan;  it  seemed  that  not  one  person  in  Dawes  had 
ever  heard  of  him. 

Parsons  had  returned  to  town  in  the  buckboard  shortly 
after  noon  on  the  day  of  their  arrival  at  the  new  house, 
and  she  had  not  seen  him  again  until  the  following  morn 
ing.  Then  he  had  told  her  that  Carrington  had  gone 

66 


CONCERNING  "SQUINT" 67 

away — he  did  not  know  where.  Carrington  would  not 
return  for  a  week  or  two,  he  inferred. 

Parsons  had  bought  some  horses.  A  little  bay,  short- 
coupled  but  wiry,  belonged  to  her,  Parsons  said  —  it  was 
a  present  from  Carrington. 

She  hesitated  to  accept  the  horse ;  but  the  little  animal 
won  her  regard  by  his  affectionate  mannerisms,  and  at 
the  end  of  a  day  of  doubt  and  indecision  she  accepted  him. 

She  had  ridden  horses  in  Westwood  —  bareback  when 
no  one  had  been  looking,  and  with  a  side-saddle  at  other 
times  —  but  she  discovered  no  side-saddle  in  Dawes. 
However,  she  did  encounter  no  difficulty  in  unearthing  a 
riding-habit  with  a  divided  skirt,  and  though  she  got  into 
that  with  a  pulse  of  trepidation  and  embarrassment,  she 
soon  discovered  it  to  be  most  comfortable  and  convenient. 

And  Dawes  did  not  stare  at  her  because  she  rode 
"straddle."  At  first  she  was  fearful,  and  watched 
Dawes's  citizens  furtively;  but  when  she  saw  that  she 
attracted  no  attention  other  than  would  be  attracted  by 
any  good-looking  young  woman  in  more  conventional 
attire,  she  felt  more  at  ease.  But  she  could  not  help 
thinking  about  the  sanctimonious  inhabitants  of  West- 
wood.  Would  they  not  have  declared  their  kindly  pre 
dictions  vindicated  had  they  been  permitted  to  see  her? 
She  could  almost  hear  the  chorus  of  "  I-told-you-so's  " 
—  they  rang  in  her  ears  over  a  distance  of  many  hundreds 
of  miles ! 


THE  RANCHMAN 


But  the  spirit  of  the  young,  unfettered  country  had 
got  into  her  soul,  and  she  went  her  way  unmindful  of 
Westwood's  opinions. 

For  three  days  she  continued  her  search  for  tidings  of 
her  father,  eager  and  hopeful ;  and  then  for  the  remainder 
of  the  week  she  did  her  searching  mechanically,  dog 
gedly,  with  a  presentiment  of  failure  to  harass  her. 

And  then  one  morning,  when  she  was  standing  beside 
her  horse  near  the  stable  door,  ready  to  mount  and  fully 
determined  to  pursue  the  Carrington  rumor  to  the  end, 
the  word  she  sought  was  brought  to  her. 

She  saw  a  horseman  coming  toward  her  from  the 
direction  of  Dawes.  He  was  not  Parsons  —  for  the  rider 
was  short  and  broad ;  and  besides,  Parsons  was  spending 
most  of  his  time  in  Dawes. 

The  girl  watched  the  rider,  assured,  as  he  came  nearer, 
that  he  was  a  stranger;  and  when  he  turned  his  horse 
toward  her,  and  she  saw  he  was  a  stranger,  she  leaned 
close  and  whispered  to  her  own  animal : 

"Oh,  Billy;  what  if  it  should  be!" 

An  instant  later  she  was  watching  the  stranger  dis 
mount  within  a  few  feet  of  where  she  was  standing. 

He  was  short  and  stocky,  and  undeniably  Irish.  He 
was  far  past  middle  age,  as  his  gray  hair  and  seamed 
wrinkles  of  his  face  indicated;  but  there  was  the  light  of 
a  youthful  spirit  and  good-nature  in  his  eyes  that  squinted 
at  the  girl  with  a  quizzical  interest. 


CONCERNING  "SQUINT" 69 

With  the  bridle-rein  in  the  crook  of  his  elbow  and  his 
hat  in  his  hand,  he  bowed  elaborately  to  the  girl. 

"Would  ye  be  Miss  Harlan,  ma'am?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  breathed,  her  face  alight  with  eagerness, 
for  now  since  the  man  had  spoken  her  name  the  presenti 
ment  of  news  grew  stronger. 

The  man's  face  flashed  into  a  wide,  delighted  grin  and 
he  reached  out  a  hand,  into  which  she  placed  one  of  hers, 
hardly  knowing  that  she  did  it. 

"  Me  name's  Ben  Mullarky,  ma'am.  I've  got  a  little 
shack  down  on  the  Rabbit-Ear — which  is  a  crick,  for  all 
the  name  some  locoed  ignoramus  give  it.  You  c'ud  see 
the  shack  from  here,  ma'am  —  if  ye'd  look  sharp." 

He  pointed  out  a  spot  to  her — a  wooded  section  far 
out  in  the  big  level  country  southward,  beside  the  river 
• — and  she  saw  the  roof  of  a  building  near  the  edge  of 
the  timber. 

"  That's  me  shack,"  offered  Mullarky.  "  Me  ol'  woman 
an'  meself  owns  her  —  an'  a  quarter-section  —  all  proved. 
We  call  it  seven  miles  from  the  shack  to  Dawes.  That'd 
make  it  about  three  from  here." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  girl  eagerly. 

He  grinned  at  her.  "  Comin'  in  to  town  this  mornin' 
for  some  knickknacks  for  me  ol'  woman,  I  hear  from 
Coleman  —  who  keeps  a  store  —  that  there's  a  fine-lookin' 
girl  named  Harlan  searchin'  the  country  for  news  of  her 
father,  Larry  Harlan.  I  knowed  him,  ma'am." 


70 THE  RANCHMAN 

"You  did?  Oh,  how  wonderful!"  She  stood  erect, 
breathing  fast,  her  eyes  glowing  with  mingled  joy  and 
impatience.  She  had  not  caught  the  significance  of  Mul- 
larky's  picturesque  past  tense,  "knowed;"  but  when  he 
repeated  it,  with  just  a  slight  emphasis : 

"  I  knowed  him,  ma'am,"  she  drew  a  quick,  full  breath 
and  her  face  whitened. 

"You  knew  him,"  she  said  slowly.  "Does  that 
mean " 

Mullarky  scratched  his  head  and  looked  downward,  not 
meeting  her  eyes. 

"  Squint  Taylor  would  tell  you  the  story,  ma'am."  he 
said.  "  You  see,  ma'am,  he  worked  for  Squint,  an'  Squint 
was  with  him  when  it  happened." 

"He's  dead,  then?"  She  stood  rigid,  tense,  searching 
Mullarky's  face  with  wide,  dreading  eyes,  and  when  she 
saw  his  gaze  shift  under  hers  she  drew  a  deep  sigh  and 
leaned  against  Billy,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Mullarky  did  not  attempt  to  disturb  her;  he  stood, 
looking  glumly  at  her,  reproaching  himself  for  his  awk 
wardness  in  breaking  the  news  to  her. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  she  faced  him  again,  and 
then  she  was  pale  and  composed,  except  for  the  haunting 
sadness  that  had  come  into  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can 
find  Mr.  Taylor  — '  Squint,'  you  called  him?  Is  that  the 
Taylor  who  was  elected  mayor  —  last  week  ?, " 


CONCERNING  "SQUINT" 71 

"The  same,  ma'am."  He  turned  and  pointed  south 
ward,  into  the  big,  level  country  that  she  admired  so 
much. 

"Do  you  see  that  big  timber  grove  'way  off  there  — 
where  the  crick  doubles  to  the  north  —  with  that  big  green 
patch  beyond?"  She  nodded.  "That's  Taylor's  ranch 
—  the  Arrow.  jYou'll  find  him  there.  He's  a  mighty  fine 
man,  ma'am.  Larry  Harlan  would  tell  you  that  if  he  was 
here.  Taylor  was  the  best  friend  that  Larry  Harlan  ever 
had  —  out  here."  He  looked  at  her  pityingly.  "I'm 
sorry,  ma'am,  to  be  the  bearer  of  ill  news;  but  when  I 
heard  you  was  in  town,  lookin'  for  your  father,  I  couldn't 
help  comin'  to  see  you." 

She  asked  some  questions  about  her  father  —  which 
Mullarky  answered ;  though  he  could  tell  her  nothing  that 
would  acquaint  her  with  the  details  of  her  father's  life 
between  the  time  he  had  left  Westwood  and  the  day  of 
his  appearance  in  this  section  of  the  world. 

"  Mebbe  Taylor  will  know,  ma'am,"  he  repeated  again 
and  again.  And  then,  when  she  thanked  him  once  more 
and  mounted  her  horse,  he  said : 

"You'll  be  goin'  to  see  Squint  right  away,  ma'am,  I 
suppose.  You  can  ease  your  horse  right  down  the  slope, 
here,  an'  strike  the  level.  You'll  find  a  trail  right  down 
there.  You'll  follow  it  along  the  crick,  an'  it'll  take  you 
into  the  Arrow  ranchhouse.  It'll  take  you  past  me  own 
shack,  too;  an'  if  you'll  stop  in  an'  tell  the  ol'  woman  wha 


72    THE  RANCHMAN 

you  are,  she'll  be  tickled  to  give  you  a  snack  an'  a  cup  of 
tea.  She  liked  Larry  herself." 

The  girl  watched  Mullarky  ride  away.  He  turned  in 
the  saddle,  at  intervals,  to  grin  at  her. 

Then,  when  Mullarky  had  gone  she  leaned  against 
Billy  and  stood  for  a  long  time,  her  shoulders  quivering. 

At  last,  though,  she  mounted  the  little  animal  and  sent 
him  down  the  slope. 

She  found  the  trail  about  which  Mullarky  had  spoken, 
and  rode  it  steadily;  though  she  saw  little  of  the  wild, 
virgin  country  through  which  she  passed,  because  her 
brimming  eyes  blurred  it  all. 

She  came  at  last  to  Mullarky's  shack,  and  a  stout,  moth 
erly  woman,  with  an  ample  bosom  and  a  kindly  face, 
welcomed  her. 

"  So  you're  Larry  Harlan's  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Mul 
larky,  when  her  insistence  had  brought  the  girl  inside  the 
cabin;  "you  poor  darlin'.  An'  Ben  told  you  —  the  blun- 
derin'  idiot.  He'll  have  a  piece  of  my  mind  when  he 
comes  back!  An'  you're  stoppin'  at  the  old  Huggins 
house,  eh?"  She  looked  sharply  at  the  girl,  and  the 
latter's  face  reddened.  Whereat  Mrs.  Mullarky  patted 
her  shoulder  and  murmured : 

"It  ain't  your  fault  that  there's  indacint  women  in 
the  world;  an'  no  taint  of  them  will  ever  reach  you.  But 
the  fools  in  this  world  is  always  waggin'  their  tongues, 
associatin'  what's  happened  with  what  they  think  will 


CONCERNING  "SQUINT" 73 

happen.  An'  mebbe  they'll  wonder  about  you.  It's  your 
uncle  that's  there  with  you,  you  say?  Well,  then,  don't 
you  worry.  You  run  right  along  to  see  Squint  Taylor, 
now,  an'  find  out  what  he  knows  about  your  father. 
Taylor's  a  mighty  fine  man,  darlin'." 

And  so  Marion  went  on  her  way  again,  grateful  for 
Airs.  Mullarky's  kindness,  but  depressed  over  the  knowl 
edge  that  the  atmosphere  of  suspicion,  wrhich  had  envel 
oped  her  in  Westwood,  had  followed  her  into  this  new 
country  which,  she  had  hoped,  would  have  been  more 
friendly. 

She  came  in  sight  of  the  Arrow  ranchhouse  presently, 
and  gazed  at  it  admiringly.  It  was  a  big  building,  of 
adobe  brick,  with  a  wide  porch  —  or  gallery  —  entirely 
surrounding  it.  It  was  in  the  center  of  a  big  space,  with 
timber  flanking  it  on  three  sides,  and  at  the  north  was  a 
green  stretch  of  level  that  reached  to  the  sloping  banks  of 
a  river. 

There  were  several  smaller  buildings ;  a  big,  fenced  en 
closure —  the  corrals,  she  supposed;  a  pasture,  and  a 
garden.  Everything  was  in  perfect  order,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  aroma  of  the  sage  that  assailed  her  nostrils, 
the  awe-inspiring  bigness  of  it  all,  the  sight  of  thousands 
of  cattle  —  which  she  could  see  through  the  trees  beyond 
the  clearing,  she  could  have  likened  the  place  to  a  big 
eastern  farmhouse  of  the  better  class,  isolated  and  pros 
perous. 


74  THE  RANCHMAN 

She  dismounted  from  her  horse  at  a  corner  of  the 
house,  near  a  door  that  opened  upon  the  wide  porch,  and 
stood,  pale  and  hesitant,  looking  at  the  door,  which  was 
closed. 

And  as  she  stared  at  the  door,  it  swung  inward  and 
Quinton  Taylor  appeared  in  the  opening. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  MAN  LIES 

was  arrayed  as  Marion  had  mentally  pic- 
-i-  tured  him  that  day  when,  in  the  Pullman,  she  had 
associated  him  with  ranches  and  ranges.  Evidently  he 
was  ready  to  ride,  for  leather  chaps  incased  his  legs.  The 
chaps  were  plain,  not  even  adorned  with  the  spangles  of 
the  drawings  she  had  seen;  and  they  were  well-worn 
and  shiny  in  spots.  A  pair  of  big,  Mexican  spurs  were 
on  the  heels  of  his  boots;  the  inevitable  cartridge- 
belt  about  his  middle,  sagging  with  the  heavy  pistol; 
a  quirt  dangled  from  his  left  hand.  Assuredly  he 
belonged  in  this  environment  —  he  even  seemed  to  dom 
inate  it. 

She  had  wondered  how  he  would  greet  her;  but  his 
greeting  was  not  at  all  what  she  had  feared  it  would  be. 
For  he  did  not  presume  upon  their  meeting  on  the  train ; 
he  gave  no  sign  that  he  had  ever  seen  her  before;  there 
was  not  even  a  glint  in  his  eyes  to  tell  her  that  he  remem 
bered  the  scornful  look  she  had  given  him  when  she  dis 
covered  him  listening  to  the  conversation  carried  on  be 
tween  her  uncle  and  Carrington.  His  manner  indicated 
that  if  she  did  not  care  to  mention  the  matter  he  would 

75 


76 


not.  His  face  was  grave  as  he  stepped  across  the  porch 
and  stood  before  her.  A'nd  he  said  merely: 

"Are  you  looking  for  someone,  ma'am?" 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  Mr.  Taylor,"  she  said.  (And  then 
he  knew  that  the  negro  porter  on  the  train  had  not  lied 
when  he  said  the  girl  had  paid  him  for  certain  infor 
mation.) 

But  Taylor's  face  was  still  grave,  for  he  thought  he 
knew  what  she  had  come  for.  He  had  overheard  a  great 
deal  of  the  conversation  between  Parsons  and  Carrington 
in  the  dining-car,  and  he  remembered  such  phrases  as: 
"That  fairy  tale  about  her  father  having  been  seen  in 
this  locality;  To  get  her  out  here,  where  there  isn't  a 
hell  of  a  lot  of  law,  and  a  man's  will  is  the  only  thing  that 
governs  him;"  and,  "Then  you  lied  about  Lawrence 
Harlan  having  been  seen  in  this  country."  Also,  he  re 
membered  distinctly  another  phrase,  uttered  by  Carring- 
ton :  "  That  you  framed  up  on  her  mother,  to  get  her  to 
leave  Larry." 

All  of  that  conversation  was  vivid  in  Taylor's  mind, 
and  mingled  with  the  recollection  of  it  now  was  a  grim 
pity  for  the  girl,  for  the  hypocritical  character  of  her 
supposed  friends. 

To  be  sure,  the  girl  did  not  know  that  Parsons  had 
lied  about  her  father  having  been  seen  in  the  vicinity  of 
Dawes;  but  that  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  Larry  Harlan 
had  really  been  here;  and  Taylor  surmised  that  she  had 


A  MAN  LIES 


made  inquiries,  thus  discovering  that  there  was  truth  in 
Carrington's  statement. 

He  got  a  chair  for  her  and  seated  himself  on  the  porch 
railing. 

"You  came  to  see  me?"  he  said,  encouragingly. 

"  I  am  Marion  Harlan,  the  daughter  of  Lawrence 
Harlan,"  began  the  girl.  And  then  she  paused  to  note  the 
effect  of  her  words  on  Taylor. 

So  far  as  she  could  see,  there  was  no  sign  of  emotion 
on  Taylor's  face.  He  nodded,  looking  steadily  at  her. 

"And  you  are  seeking  news  of  your  father,"  he  said. 
"  Who  told  you  to  come  to  me  ? " 

"A  man  named  Ben  Mullarky.  He  said  my  father 
had  worked  for  you  —  that  you  had  been  his  best  friend." 

She  saw  his  lips  come  together  in  straight  lines. 

"Poor  Larry.    You  knew  he  died,  Miss  Harlan?" 

"  Mullarky  told  me."  The  girl's  eyes  moistened.  "And 
I  should  like  to  know  something  about  him  —  how  he 
lived  after  —  after  he  left  home;  whether  he  was  happy 
—  all  about  him.  You  see,  Mr.  Taylor,  I  loved  him!" 

"And  Larry  Harlan  loved  his  daughter,"  said  Taylor 
softly. 

He  began  to  tell  her  of  her  father;  how  several  years 
before  Harlan  had  come  to  him,  seeking  employment; 
how  Larry  and  himself  had  formed  a  friendship;  how 
they  had  gone  together  in  search  of  the  gold  that  Larry 
claimed  to  have  discovered  in  the  Sangre  de  Christo 


78 THE  RANCHMAN 

Mountains;  of  the  injury  Larry  had  suffered,  and  how 
the  man  had  died  while  he  himself  had  been  taking  him 
toward  civilization  and  assistance. 

During  the  recital,  however,  one  thought  dominated 
him,  reddening  his  face  with  visible  evidence  of  the  sense 
of  guilt  that  had  seized  him.  He  must  deliberately  lie  to 
the  daughter  of  the  man  who  had  been  his  friend. 

In  his  pocket  at  this  instant  was  Larry's  note  io  him, 
in  which  the  man  had  expressed  his  fear  of  fortune- 
hunters.  Taylor  remembered  the  exact  words: 

Marion  will  have  considerable  money  and  I  don't  want  no 
sneak  to  get  hold  of  it  —  like  the  sneak  that  got  hold  of  the 
money  my  wife  had,  that  I  saved.  There's  a  lot  of  them 
around.  If  Marion  is  going  to  fall  in  with  one  of  that  kind, 
I'd  rather  she  wouldn't  get  what  I  leave ;  the  man  would  get 
it  away  from  her.  Use  your  own  judgment  and  I'll  be 
satisfied. 

And  Taylor's  judgment  was  that  Carrington  and  Par 
sons  were  fortune-hunters;  that  if  they  discovered  the 
girl  to  be  entitled  to  a  share  of  the  money  that  had  been 
received  from  the  sale  of  the  mine,  they  would  endeavor 
to  convert  it  to  their  own  use.  And  Taylor  was  deter 
mined  they  should  not  have  it. 

The  conversation  he  had  overheard  in  the  dining-car 
had  convinced  him  of  their  utter  hypocrisy  and  selfish 
ness;  it  had  aroused  in  him  a  feeling  of  savage  resent 
ment  and  disgust  that  would  not  permit  him  to  transfer 


a  cent  of  the  money  to  the  girl  as  long  as  they  held  the 
slightest  influence  over  her. 

Again  he  mentally  quoted  from  Larry's  note  to  him : 

The  others  were  too  selfish  and  sneaking.  (That  meant 
Parsons  —  and  one  other.)  Squint,  I  want  you  to  take 
care  of  her.  .  .  .  Sell  —  the  mine  —  take  my  share 
and  for  it  give  Marion  a  half-interest  in  your  ranch,  the 
Arrow.  If  there  is  any  left,  put  it  in  land  in  Dawes  — 
that  town  is  going  to  boom.  Guard  it  for  her,  and  marry 
her,  Squint;  she'll  make  you  a  good  wife. 

Since  the  first  meeting  with  the  girl  on  the  train  Taylor 
had  felt  an  entire  sympathy  with  Larry  Harlan  in  his  ex 
pressed  desire  to  have  Taylor  marry  the  girl ;  in  fact,  she 
was  the  first  girl  that  Taylor  had  ever  wanted  to  marry, 
and  the  passion  in  his  heart  for  her  had  already  passed 
the  wistful  stage  —  he  was  determined  to  have  her.  But 
that  passion  did  not  lessen  his  sense  of  obligation  to  Larry 
Harlan.  Nor  would  it  —  if  he  could  not  have  the  girl 
himself  —  prevent  him  doing  what  he  could  to  keep  her 
from  forming  any  sort  of  an  alliance  with  the  sort  of 
man  Larry  had  wished  to  save  her  from,  as  expressed 
in  this  passage  of  the  note:  "If  Marion  is  going  to  fall 
in  with  one  of  that  kind,  I'd  rather  she  wouldn't  get  what 
I  leave." 

Therefore,  since  Taylor  distrusted  Carrington  and 
Parsons,  he  had  decided  he  would  not  tell  the  girl  of  the 
money  her  father  had  left  —  the  share  of  the  proceeds  of 


SO THE  RANCHMAN 

the  mine.  He  would  hold  it  for  her,  as  a  sacred  trust, 
until  the  time  came  —  if  it  ever  came  —  when  she  would 
have  discovered  their  faithlessness  —  or  until  she  needed 
the  money.  More,  he  was  determined  to  expose  the  men. 

He  knew,  thanks  to  his  eavesdropping  on  the  train,  at 
least  something  regarding  the  motives  that  had  brought 
them  to  Dawes ;  Carrington's  words,  "  When  we  get  hold 
of  the  reins,"  had  convinced  him  that  they  and  the  inter 
ests  behind  them  were  to  endeavor  to  rob  the  people  of 
Dawes.  That  was  indicated  by  their  attempt  to  have 
David  Dan  forth  elected  mayor  of  the  town. 

Taylor  had  already  decided  that  he  could  not  permit 
Marion  to  see  the  note  her  father  had  left,  for  he  did  not 
want  her  to  feel  that  she  was  under  any  obligation  — 
parental  or  otherwise  —  to  marry  him.  If  he  won  her 
at  all,  he  wanted  to  win  her  on  his  merits. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  since  he  had  decided  to  lie  about 
the  money,  he  was  determined  to  say  nothing  about  the 
note  at  all.  He  would  keep  silent,  making  whatever  ex 
planations  that  seemed  to  6e  necessary,  trusting  to  time 
and  the  logical  sequence  of  events  for  the  desired  outcome. 

He  was  forced  to  begin  to  lie  at  once.  When  he  had 
finished  the  story  of  Larry's  untimely  death,  the  girl 
looked  straight  at  him. 

"Then  you  were  with  him  when  he  died.  Did  —  did 
he  mention  anyone  —  my  mother  —  or  me?" 

"He  said:    'Squint,  there  is  a  daughter'"  —  Taylor 


A  MAN  LIES  81 


was  quoting  from  the  note  —  "'she  was  fifteen  when  I 
saw  her  last.  She  looked  just  like  me  —  thank  God  for 
that ! ' '  Taylor  blushed  when  he  saw  the  girl's  face 
redden,  for  he  knew  what  her  thoughts  were.  He  should 
not  have  quoted  that  sentence.  He  resolved  to  be  more 
careful;  and  went  on :  " He  told  me  I  was  to  take  care  of 
you,  to  offer  you  a  home  at  the  'Arrow  —  after  I  found 
you.  I  was  to  go  to  Westwood,  Illinois,  to  find  you.  I 
suppose  he  wanted  me  to  bring  you  here." 

The  speech  was  entirely  unworthy,  and  Taylor  knew  it, 
and  he  eased  his  conscience  by  adding :  "  He  thought,  I 
suppose,  that  you  would  like  to  be  where  he  had  been. 
I've  not  touched  the  room  he  had.  All  his  effects  are 
there  —  everything  he  owned,  just  as  he  left  them.  I 
had  given  him  a  room  in  the  house  because  I  liked  him 
(that  was  the  truth),  and  I  wanted  him  where  I  could 
talk  to  him." 

"  I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for  that ! "  she  said  ear 
nestly.  And  then  Taylor  was  forced  to  lie  again,  for  she 
immediately  asked:  "And  the  mine?  It  proved  to  be 
worthless,  I  suppose.  For,"  she  added,  "that  would  be 
just  father's  luck." 

"  The  mine  wasn't  what  we  thought  it  would  be,"  said 
Taylor.  He  was  looking  at  his  boots  when  he  spoke,  and 
he  wondered  if  his  face  was  as  red  as  it  felt. 

"  I  am  not  surprised."  There  was  no  disappointment 
in  her  voice,  and  therefore  Taylor  knew  she  was  not  ava- 


82 THE  RANCHMAN 

ricious  —  though  he  knew  he  had  not  expected  her  to  be. 
"Then  he  left  nothing  but  his  personal  belongings?"  she 
added. 

Taylor  nodded. 

The  girl  sat  for  a  long  time,  looking  out  over  the  river 
into  the  vast  level  that  stretched  away  from  it. 

"  He  has  ridden  there,  I  suppose,"  she  said  wistfully. 
"He  was  here  for  nearly  three  years,  you  said.  Then 
he  must  have  been  everywhere  around  here."  And  she 
got  up,  gazing  about  her,  as  though  she  would  firmly  fix 
the  locality  for  future  reminiscent  dreams.  Then  sud 
denly  she  said : 

"I  should  like  to  see  his  room  —  may  I?" 

"  You  sure  can ! " 

She  followed  him  into  the  house,  and  he  stood  in  the 
open  doorway,  watching  her  as  she  went  from  place  to 
place,  looking  at  Larry's  effects. 

Taylor  did  not  remain  long  at  the  door;  he  went  out 
upon  the  porch  again,  leaving  her  in  the  room,  and  after 
a  long  time  she  joined  him,  her  eyes  moist,  but  a  smile 
on  her  lips. 

"You'll  leave  his  things  there  —  a  little  longer,  won't 
you?  I  should  like  to  have  them,  and  I  shall  come  for 
them,  some  day." 

"  Sure,"  he  said.  "  But,  look  here,  Miss  Harlan.  Why 
should  you  take  his  things  ?  Leave  them  here  —  and  come 
yourself.  That  room  is  yours,  if  you  say  the  word. 


A  MAN  LIES  83 


And  a  half -interest  in  the  ranch.  I  was  going  to  offer 
your  father  an  interest  in  it  —  if  he  had  lived " 

He  realized  his  mistake  when  he  saw  her  eyes  widen 
incredulously.  And  there  was  a  change  in  her  voice  — 
it  was  full  of  doubt,  of  distrust  almost. 

"  What  had  father  done  to  deserve  an  interest  in  your 
ranch  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Why,"  he  answered  hesitatingly,  "  it's  rather  hard  to 
say.  But  he  helped  me  much ;  he  suggested  improvements 
that  made  the  place  more  valuable;  he  was  a  good  man, 
and  he  took  a  great  deal  of  the  work  off  my  mind  —  and 
I  liked  him,"  he  finished  lamely. 

"And  do  you  think  I  could  do  his  share  of  the  work?  " 
she  interrogated,  looking  at  him  with  an  odd  smile,  the 
meaning  of  which  Taylor  could  not  fathom. 

"I  couldn't  expect  that,  of  course,"  he  said  boldly; 
"but  I  owe  Harlan  something  for  what  he  did  for  me, 
and  I  thought " 

"  You  thought  you  would  be  charitable  to  the  daugh 
ter,"  she  finished  for  him,  with  a  smile  in  which  there  was 
gratitude  and  understanding. 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  thank  you  enough  for  feeling  that 
way  toward  my  father  and  myself.  But  I  can't  accept, 
you  know." 

Taylor  did  know,  of  course.  A  desperate  desire  to 
make  amends  for  his  lying,  to  force  upon  her  gratuitously 
[what  he  had  illegally  robbed  her  of,  had  been  the  motive 


84  THE  RANCHMAN 

underlying  his  offer.  And  he  would  have  been  disap 
pointed  had  she  accepted,  for  that  would  have  revealed 
a  lack  of  spirit  which  he  had  hoped  she  possessed. 

And  yet  Taylor  felt  decidedly  uncomfortable  over  the 
refusal.  He  wanted  her  to  have  what  belonged  to  her, 
for  he  divined  from  the  note  her  father  had  left  that 
she  would  have  need  of  it. 

He  discovered  by  judicious  questioning,  by  inference, 
and  through  crafty  suggestion,  that  she  was  entirely  de 
pendent  upon  her  uncle;  that  her  uncle  had  bought  the 
Huggins  house,  and  that  Carrington  had  made  her  a 
present  of  the  horse  she  rode. 

This  last  bit  of  information,  volunteered  by  Marion, 
provoked  Taylor  to  a  rage  that  made  him  grit  his  teeth. 

A  little  while  longer  they  talked,  and  when  the  girl 
mounted  her  horse  to  ride  away,  they  had  entered  into 
an  agreement  under  which  on  Tuesdays  and  Fridays  — 
the  first  Tuesday  falling  on  the  following  day  —  Taylor 
was  to  be  absent  from  the  ranch.  And  during  his  absence 
the  girl  was  to  come  and  stay  at  the  ranchhouse,  there  to 
occupy  her  father's  room  and,  if  she  desired,  to  enter 
the  other  rooms  at  will. 

As  a  concession  to  propriety,  she  was  to  bring  Martha, 
the  Huggins  housekeeper,  with  her. 

But  Taylor,  after  the  girl  had  left,  stood  for  an  hour 
on  the  porch,  watching  the  dust-cloud  that  followed  the 
girl's  progress  through  the  big  basin,  his  face  red,  his 


A  MAN  LIES  85 


soul  filled  with  loathing  for  the  part  his  judgment  was 
forcing  him  to  play.  But  arrayed  against  the  loathing 
was  a  complacent  satisfaction  aroused  over  the  thought 
that  Carrington  would  never  get  the  money  that  Larry 
Harlan  had  left  to  the  girl 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   FRAME-UP 

JAMES  J.  CARRINGTON  was  unscrupulous,  but 
even  his  most  devout  enemy  could  not  have  said  that 
he  lacked  vision  and  thoroughness.  And,  while  he  had 
been  listening  to  Danforth  in  his  apartment  in  the  Castle 
Hotel,  he  had  discovered  that  Neil  Norton  had  made  a 
technical  blunder  in  electing  Quinton  Taylor  mayor  of 
Dawes.  Perhaps  that  was  why  Carrington  had  not 
seemed  to  be  very  greatly  disturbed  over  the  knowledge 
that  Danforth  had  been  defeated;  certainly  it  was  why; 
Carrington  had  taken  the  first  train  to  the  capital. 

Carrington  was  tingling  with  elation  when  he  reached 
the  capital;  but  on  making  inquiries  he  found  that  the 
governor  had  left  the  city  the  day  before,  and  that  he 
was  not  expected  to  return  for  several  days. 

Carrington  passed  the  interval  renewing  some  acquaint 
ances,  and  fuming  with  impatience  in  the  barroom,  the 
billiard-room,  and  the  lobby  of  his  hotel. 

But  he  was  the  first  visitor  admitted  to  the  governor's 
office  when  the  latter  returned. 

The  governor  was  a  big  man,  flaccid  and  portly,  and 
he  received  Carrington  with  a  big  Stetson  set  rakishly  on 

86 


THE  FRAME-UP  87 


the  back  of  his  head  and  an  enormous  black  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  That  he  was  not  a  statesman  but  a  professional 
politician  was  quite  as  apparent  from  his  appearance  as 
was  his  huge,  welcoming  smile,  a  certain  indication  that 
he  was  on  terms  of  intimate  friendship  with  Carrington. 
Formerly  an  eastern  political  worker,  and  a  power  in  the 
councils  of  his  party,  his  appointment  as  governor  of  the 
Territory  had  come,  not  because  of  his  ability  to  fill  the 
position,  but  as  a  reward  for  the  delivery  of  certain  votes 
which  had  helped  to  make  his  party  successful  at  the 
polls.  He  would  be  the  last  carpetbag  governor  of  the 
Territory,  for  the  Territory  had  at  last  been  admitted 
to  the  Union;  the  new  Legislature  was  even  then  in  ses 
sion  ;  charters  were  already  being  issued  to  municipalities 
that  desired  self-government  —  and  the  governor,  soon  to 
quit  his  position  as  temporary  chief,  had  no  real  interest 
in  the  new  regime,  and  no  desire  to  aid  in  eliminating  the 
inevitable  confusion. 

"Take  a  seat,  Jim,"  he  invited,  "and  have  a  cigar. 
My  secretary  tells  me  you've  been  buzzing  around  here 
like  a  bee  lost  from  the  hive,  for  the  past  week."  He 
grinned  hugely  at  Carrington,  poking  the  latter  playfully 
in  the  ribs  as  Carrington  essayed  to  light  the  cigar  that 
had  been  given  him. 

"  Worried  about  that  man  Taylor,  in  Dawes,  eh  ? "  he 
went  on,  as  Carrington  smoked.  "  Well,  it  was  too  bad 
that  Danforth  didn't  trim  him,  wasn't  it?  But"  —  and 


THE  RANCHMAN 


his  eyes  narrowed  —  "  I'm  still  governor,  and  Taylor  isn't 
mayor  yet  —  and  never  will  be!" 

Carrington  smiled.  "You  saw  the  mistake,  too, 
eh?" 

"  Saw  it ! "  boomed  the  governor.  "  I've  been  watching 
that  town  as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse.  Itching  for  the 
clean-up,  Jim,"  he  whispered.  "  Why,  I've  got  the  papers 
all  made  out  —  ousting  him  and  appointing  Danforth 
mayor.  Right  here  they  are."  He  reached  into  a  pigeon 
hole  and  drew  out  some  legal  papers.  "You  can  serve 
them  yourself.  Just  hand  them  to  Judge  Littlefield  — 
he'll  do  the  rest.  It's  likely  —  if  Taylor  starts  a  fuss, 
that  you'll  have  to  help  Littlefield  handle  the  case  —  ar 
ranging  for  deputies,  and  such.  If  you  need  any  more 
help,  just  wire  me.  I  don't  pack  my  carpetbag  for  a  year 
yet,  and  we  can  do  a  lot  of  work  in  that  time." 

Carrington  and  the  governor  talked  for  an  hour  or 
more,  and  when  Carrington  left  for  the  office  he  was 
grinning  with  pleasurable  anticipation.  For  a  munici 
pality,  already  sovereign  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
people,  had  been  delivered  into  his  hands. 

Just  at  dusk  on  Tuesday  evening  Carrington  alighted 
from  the  train  at  Dawes.  He  went  to  his  rooms  in  the 
Castle,  removed  the  stains  of  travel,  descended  the  stairs 
to  the  dining-room,  and  ate  heartily;  then,  stopping  at 
the  cigar-counter  to  light  a  cigar,  he  inquired  of  the  clerk 
where  he  could  find  Judge  Littlefield. 


THE  FRAME-UP  89 


"He's  got  a  house  right  next  to  the  courthouse  —  on 
your  left,  from  here,"  the  clerk  told  him. 

A  few  minutes  later  Carrington  was  seated  opposite 
judge  Littlefield,  with  a  table  between  them,  in  the  front 
room  of  the  judge's  residence. 

"My  name  is  Carrington  —  James  ].,"  was  Carring- 
ton's  introduction  of  himself.  "I  have  just  left  the  gov 
ernor,  and  he  gave  me  these,  to  hand  over  to  you."  He 
shoved  over  the  papers  the  governor  had  given  him,  smil 
ing  slightly  at  the  other. 

The  judge  answered  the  smile  with  a  beaming  smirk. 

"I've  heard  of  you,"  he  said;  "the  governor  has  often 
spoken  of  you."  He  glanced  hastily  over  the  papers,  an( 
his  smirk  widened.  "The  good  people  of  Dawes  will  be 
rather  shocked  over  this  decision,  I  suppose.  But  lay 
men  will  confuse  things  —  won't  they?  Now,  if  Norton 
and  his  friends  had  come  to  me  before  they  decided  to 
enter  Taylor's  name,  this  thing  would  not  have  hap 
pened." 

"  I'm  glad  it  did  happen,"  laughed  Carrington.  "  The 
chances  are  that  even  Norton  would  have  beaten  Dan- 
forth,  and  then  the  governor  could  not  have  interfered." 

Carrington's  gaze  became  grim  as  he  looked  at  the 
judge.  "You  are  prepared  to  go  the  limit  in  this  case, 
I  suppose?"  he  interrogated.  "There  is  a  chance  that 
Taylor  and  his  friends  will  attempt  to  make  trouble.  But 
any  trouble  is  to  be  handled  firmly,  you  understand. 


90  THE  RANCHMAN 

There  is  to  be  no  monkey  business.  If  they  accept  the 
law's  mandates,  as  all  law-abiding  citizens  should  accept 
it,  all  well  and  good.  And  if  they  don't  —  and  they  want 
trouble,  we'll  give  them  that !  Understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  smiled  the  judge.  "The  law  is  not  to  be 
assailed." 

Smilingly  he  bowed  Carrington  out. 

Carrington  took  a  turn  down  the  street,  walking  until 
his  cigar  burned  itself  out;  then  he  entered  the  hotel  and 
sat  for  a  time  in  the  lobby.  Then  he  went  to  bed,  satisfied 
that  he  had  done  a  good  week's  work,  and  conscious  that 
he  had  launched  a  heavy  blow  at  the  man  for  whom  he 
had  conceived  a  great  and  bitter  hatred. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"NO   FUN   FOOLING   HER5' 

ACCOMPANIED  by  Martha,  who  rode  one  of  the 
horses  Parsons  had  bought,  Marion  Harlan  began 
her  trip  to  the  Arrow  shortly  after  dawn. 

The  girl  had  said  nothing  to  Parsons  regarding  her 
meeting  with  Taylor  the  previous  day,  nor  of  her  inten 
tion  to  pass  the  day  at  the  Arrow.  For  she  feared  that 
Parsons  might  make  some  objection  —  and  she  wanted 
to  go. 

That  she  feared  her  uncle's  deterrent  influence  argued 
that  she  was  aware  that  she  was  doing  wrong  in  going 
to  the  Arrow  —  even  with  Martha  as  chaperon;  but  that 
was,  perhaps,  the  very  reason  the  thought  of  going 
engaged  her  interest. 

She  wondered  many  times,  as  she  rode,  with  the  negro 
woman  trailing  her,  if  there  was  not  inherent  in  her  some 
of  those  undesirable  traits  concerning  which  the  good 
people  of  Westwood  had  entertained  fears. 

The  thought  crimsoned  her  cheeks  and  brightened  her 
eyes;  but  she  knew  she  had  no  vicious  thoughts  —  that 
she  was  going  to  the  Arrow,  not  because  she  wanted  to 
see  Taylor  again,  but  because  she  wanted  to  sit  in  the 

91 


92 THE  RANCHMAN 

room  that  had  been  occupied  by  her  father.  She  wanted 
to  look  again  at  his  belongings,  to  feel  his  former  presence 
—  as  she  had  felt  it  while  gazing  out  over  the  vast  level 
beyond  the  river,  where  he  had  ridden  many  times. 

She  looked  in  en  Mrs.  Mullarky  as  they  passed  the 
Mullarky  cabin,  and  when  the  good  woman  learned  of 
her  proposed  visit  to  the  Arrow,  she  gave  her  entire 
approval. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  darlin',"  declared  Mrs.  Mullarky. 
"Let  the  world  jabber  —  if  it  wants  to,  If  it  was  me 
father  that  had  been  over  there,  I'd  stay  there,  takin' 
Squint  Taylor  at  his  word  —  an'  divvle  a  bit  I'd  care 
what  the  world  would  say  about  it ! " 

So  Marion  rode  on,  slightly  relieved.  But  the  crimson 
stain  was  still  on  her  cheeks  when  she  and  Martha  dis 
mounted  at  the  porch,  and  she  looked  fearfully  around, 
.ialf -expecting  that  Taylor  would  appear  from  somewhere, 
having  tricked  her. 

But  Taylor  was  nowhere  in  sight.  A  fat  man  ap 
peared  from  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  stable, 
doffed  his  hat  politely,  informed  her  that  he  was  the 
"stable  boss"  and  would  care  for  the  horses;  he  having 
been  delegated  by  Taylor  to  perform  whatever  service 
Miss  Harlan  desired ;  and  ambled  off,  leading  the  horses, 
leaving  the  girl  and  Martha  standing  near  the  edge  of 
the  porch. 

Marion  entered  the  house  with  a  strange  feeling  a£ 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER" 93 

guilt  and  shame.  Standing  in  the  open  doorway  —  where 
she  had  seen  Taylor  standing  when  she  had  dismounted 
the  day  before  —  she  was  afflicted  with  regret  and  mor 
tification  over  her  coming.  It  wasn't  right  for  a  girl  to 
do  as  she  was  doing;  and  for  an  instant  she  hesitated  011 
the  verge  of  flight. 

But  Martha's  voice  directly  behind  her,  reassured  her. 

"They  ain't  a  soul  here,  honey  —  not  a  soul.  You've 
got  the  whole  house  to  yo'self.  This  am  a  lark  —  shuah 
enough.  He,  he,  he !  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  temptress  —  and  Marion  heeded 
it.  With  a  defiant  toss  of  her  head  she  entered  the  room, 
took  off  her  hat,  laid  it  on  a  convenient  table,  calmly 
telling  Martha  to  do  the  same.  Then  she  went  boldlj 
from  one  room  to  another,  finally  coming  to  a  halt  in 
the  doorway  of  the  room  that  had  been  occupied  by  her 
father. 

For  her  that  room  seemed  to  hallow  the  place.  It  was 
as  though  her  father  were  here  with  her ;  as  though  there 
were  no  need  of  Martha  being  here  with  her.  The 
thought  of  it  removed  any  stigma  that  might  have  been 
attached  to  her  coming;  it  made  her  heedless  of  the 
opinion  of  the  world  and  its  gossip-mongers. 

She  forgot  the  world  in  her  interest,  and  for  more 
than  an  hour,  with  Martha  sitting  in  a  chair  sympathet 
ically  watching  her,  she  reveled  in  the  visible  proofs  of 
her  father's  occupancy  of  the  room. 


S4 THE  RANCHMAN 

Later  she  and  Martha  went  out  on  the  porch,  where, 
seated  in  rocking-chairs  —  that  had  not  been  on  the  porch 
the  day  before  —  she  filled  her  mental  vision  with  pic 
tures  of  her  father's  life  at  the  Arrow.  Those  pictures 
were  imaginary,  but  they  were  intensely  satisfying  to  the 
girl  who  had  loved  her  father,  for  she  could  almost  see 
him  moving  about  her. 

"  You  shuah  does  look  soft  an'  dreamy,  honey,"  Martha 
told  her  once.  "  You  looks  jes'  like  a  delicate  ghost.  A 
while  ago,  lookin'  at  you,  I  shuali  was  scared  you  was 
goin'  to  blow  away ! " 

But  Marion  was  not  the  ethereal  wraith  that  Martha 
thought  her.  She  proved  that  a  little  later,  when,  with 
the  negro  woman  abetting  her,  she  went  into  the  house 
and  prepared  dinner.  For  she  ate  so  heartily  that  Martha 
was  forced  to  amend  her  former  statement. 

"For  a  ghost  you  shuah  does  eat  plenty,  honey,"  she 
said. 

Later  they  were  out  on  the  porch  again.  The  big  level 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  was  flooded  with  a  slum 
berous  sunshine,  with  the  glowing,  rose  haze  of  early 
afternoon  enveloping  it,  and  the  girl  was  enjoying  it 
when  there  came  an  interruption. 

A!  cowboy  emerged  from  a  building  down  near  the 
corral  —  Marion  learned  later  that  the  building  was 
the  bunkhouse,  which  meant  that  it  was  used  as  sleep 
ing-quarters  for  the  Arrow  outfit  —  and  walked,  with 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER" 95 

the  rolling  stride  so  peculiar  to  his  kind,  toward  the 
porch. 

He  was  a  tall  young  man,  red  of  face,  and  just  now 
affected  with  a  mighty  embarrassment,  which  was  re 
vealed  in  the  awkward  manner  in  which  he  removed  his 
hat  and  shuffled  his  feet  as  he  came  to  a  halt  within  a 
few  feet  of  Marion. 

"  The  boss  wants  to  know  how  you  are  gettin'  along, 
ma'am,  an'  if  there's  anything  you're  wantin'?" 

"We  are  enjoying  ourselves  immensely,  thank  you; 
and  there  is  nothing  we  want  —  particularly." 

The  puncher  had  turned  to  go  before  the  girl  thought 
of  the  significance  of  the  "  boss." 

Her  face  was  a  trifle  pale  as  she  called  to  the  puncher. 

"Who  is  your  boss  —  if  you  please?"  she  asked. 

The  puncher  wheeled,  a  slow  grin  on  his  face. 

"  Why,  Squint  Taylor,  ma'am." 

She  sat  erect  "Do  you  mean  that  Mr.  [Taylor  is 
here?" 

"  He's  in  the  bunkhouse,  ma'am." 

She  got  up,  and,  holding  her  head  very  erect,  began 
to  walk  toward  the  room  in  which  she  had  left  her  hat. 

But  half -way  across  the  porch  the  puncher's  voice 
halted  her: 

"  Squint  was  sayin'  you  didn't  expect  him  to  be  here, 
an'  that  I'd  have  to  do  the  explaimn'.  He  couldn't  come, 
you  see." 


96 THE  RANCHMAN 

"Ashamed,  I  suppose,"  she  said  coldly. 

She  was  facing  the  puncher  now,  and  she  saw  him  grin. 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am ;  I  don't  reckon  he's  a  heap  ashamed. 
But  it'd  be  mighty  inconvenient  for  him.  You  see,  ma'am, 
this  mornin',  when  he  was  gittin'  ready  to  ride  to  the 
south  line,  his  cayuse  got  an  ornery  streak  an'  throwed 
him,  sprainin'  Squint's  ankle." 

The  girl's  emotions  suddenly  reacted;  the  resentment 
she  had  yielded  to  became  self-reproach.  For  she  had 
judged  hastily,  and  she  had  always  felt  that  one  had  no 
right  to  judge  hastily. 

And  Taylor  had  been  remarkably  considerate;  for  he 
bad  not  even  permitted  her  to  know  of  the  accident  until 
after  noon.  That  indicated  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
forcing  himself  on  her. 

She  hesitated,  saw  Martha  grinning  into  a  hand,  looked 
at  the  puncher's  expressionless  face,  and  felt  that  she  had 
been  rather  prudish.  Her  cheeks  flushed  with  color. 

Taylor  had  actually  been  a  martyr  on  a  small  scale  in 
confining  himself  to  the  bunkhouse,  when  he  could  have 
enjoyed  the  comforts  and  spaciousness  of  the  ranchhouse 
if  it  had  not  been  for  her  own  presence. 

"Is  —  is  his  ankle  badly  sprained?"  she  hesitatingly 
asked  the  now  sober-faced  puncher. 

"Kind  of  bad,  ma'am;  he  ain't  been  able  to  do  no 
walkin'  on  it.  Been  hobblin'  an'  swearin',  mostly,  ma'am. 
It's  sure  a  trial  to  be  near  him." 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER" 97 

"And  it  is  warm  here;  it  must  be  terribly  hot  in  that 
little  place ! " 

She  was  at  the  edge  of  the  porch  now,  her  face  radi 
ating  sympathy. 

"  I  am  not  surprised  that  he  should  swear ! "  she  told 
the  puncher,  who  grinned  and  muttered : 

"  He's  sure  first  class  at  it,  ma'am." 

"  Why,"  she  said,  paying  no  attention  to  the  puncher's 
compliment  of  his  employer,  "he  is  hurt,  and  I  have  been 
depriving  him  of  his  house.  You  tell  him  to  come  right 
out  of  that  stuffy  place!  Help  him  to  come  here!" 

And  without  waiting  to  watch  the  puncher  depart,  she 
darted  into  the  house,  pulled  a  big  rocker  out  on  the 
porch,  got  a  pillow  and  arranged  it  so  that  it  would  form 
a  resting-place  for  the  injured  man's  head  —  providing 
he  decided  to  occupy  the  chair,  which  she  doubted  —  and 
then  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  awaiting  his 
appearance. 

Inside  the  bunkhouse  the  puncher  was  grinning  at 
Taylor,  who,  with  his  right  foot  swathed  in  bandages, 
was  sitting  on  a  bench,  anxiously  awaiting  the  delivery  of 
the  puncher's  message. 

"Well,  talk,  you  damned  grinning  inquisitor!"  was 
Taylor's  greeting  to  the  puncher.  "What  did  she 
say?" 

"At  first  she  didn't  seem  to  be  a  heap  overjoyed  to 
know  that  you  was  in  this  country,"  said  the  other ;  "  but 


93 


when  she  heard  you'd  been  hurt  she  sort  of  stampeded, 
invitin'  you  to  come  an'  set  on  the  porch  with  her." 

Taylor  got  up  and  started  for  the  door,  the  bandaged 
foot  dragging  clumsily. 

"  Shucks,"  drawled  the  puncher;  "  if  you  go  to  runnin' 
to  her  she'll  have  suspicions.  Accordin'  to  my  notion, 
she  expects  you  to  come  a  hobblin',  same  as  though  your 
leg  was  broke.  'Help  him  to  come,'  she  told  me.  An' 
you're  goin'  that  way  —  you  hear  me!  I'll  bust  your 
ankle  with  a  club  before  I'll  have  her  think  I'm  a  liar!" 

"  Maybe  I  was  a  little  eager,"  grinned  Taylor. 

An  instant  later  he  stepped  out  of  the  bunkhouse  door, 
leaning  heavily  on  the  puncher's  shoulder. 

The  two  made  slow  progress  to  the  porch ;  and  Taylor's 
ascent  to  the  porch  and  his  final  achievement  of  the 
rocking-chair  were  accomplished  slowly,  with  the  assist 
ance  of  Miss  Harlan. 

Then,  with  a  face  almost  the  color  of  the  scarlet 
neckerchief  he  wore,  Taylor  watched  the  retreat  of  the 
puncher. 

His  face  became  redder  when  Miss  Harlan  drew  an 
other  rocker  close  to  his  and  demanded  to  be  told  the 
story  of  the  accident. 

"  My  own  fault,"  declared  Taylor.  "  I  was  in  a  hurry. 
Accidents  always  happen  that  way,  don't  they?  Slipped 
trying  to  swing  on  my  horse,  with  him  running.  Missed 
the  stirrup.  Clumsy,  wasn't  it?" 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER" 99 

Eager  to  keep  his  word,  of  course,  Marion  reasoned. 
She  had  insisted  that  he  be  gone  when  she  arrived,  and 
he  had  injured  himself  hurrying. 

She  watched  him  as  he  talked  of  the  accident.  And 
now  for  the  first  time  she  understood  why  he  had  acquired 
the  nickname  Squint. 

His  eyes  were  deep-set,  though  not  small.  He  did  not 
really  squint,  for  there  was  plenty  of  room  between  the 
eyelids  —  which,  by  the  way,  were  fringed  with  lashes 
that  might  have  been  the  envy  of  any  woman ;  but  there 
were  many  little  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  which 
spread  fanwise  toward  cheek  and  brow,  and  these  created 
the  illusion  of  squinting. 

Also,  he  had  a  habit  of  partially  closing  his  eyes  when 
looking  directly  at  one;  and  at  such  times  they  held  a 
twinkling  glint  that  caused  one  to  speculate  over  their 
meaning. 

Miss  Harlan  was  certain  the  twinkle  meant  humor. 
But  other  persons  had  been  equally  sure  the  twinkle  meant 
other  emotions,  or  passion.  Looking  into  Taylor's  eyes 
in  the  dining-car,  Carrington  had  decided  they  were  filled 
with  cold,  implacable  hostility,  with  the  promise  of  vio 
lence,  to  himself.  And  yet  the  squint  had  not  been 
absent. 

Whatever  had  been  expressed  in  the  eyes  had  been 
sufficient  to  deter  Carrington  from  his  announced  pur 
pose  to  "knock  hell  out  of"  their  owner. 


100  THE  RANCHMAN 


The  girl  was  aware  that  Taylor  was  not  handsome; 
that  his  attractions  were  not  of  a  surface  character. 
Something  about  him  struck  deeper  than  that.  A  subtle 
magnetism  gripped  her  —  the  magnetism  of  strength, 
moral  and  mental.  In  his  eyes  she  could  see  the  signs 
of  it;  in  the  lines  of  his  jaw  and  the  set  of  his  lips  were 
suggestions  of  indomitability  and  force. 

All  the  visible  signs  were,  however,  glossed  over  with 
the  deep,  slow  humor  that  radiated  from  him,  that  glowed 
in  his  eyes. 

It  all  made  her  conscious  of  a  great  similarity  between 
them;  for  despite  the  doubts  and  suspicions  of  the  people 
of  Westwood,  she  had  been  able  to  survive  —  and  humor 
had  been  the  grace  that  had  saved  her  from  disappoint 
ment  and  pessimism.  Those  other  traits  in  Taylor — • 
visible  to  one  who  studied  him  —  she  knew  for  her  own ; 
and  her  spirits  now  responded  to  his. 

Her  cheeks  were  glowing  as  she  looked  at  him,  and  her 
eyes,  half  veiled  by  the  drooping  lashes,  were  dancing 
with  mischief. 

"You  were  in  that  hot  bunkhouse  all  morning,"  she 
said.  "Why  didn't  you  send  word  before?" 

"You  were  careful  to  tell  me  that  you  didn't  want  me 
around  when  you  came." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  reproach  in  his  eyes. 

"  But  you  were  injured !  " 

"Lwk  how  things  go  in  the  world,"  he  invited, 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER" 101 

rowing  his  eyes  at  her.  "  It's  almost  enough  to  make  a 
man  let  go  all  holds  and  just  drift  along.  Maybe  a  man 
would  be  just  as  well  off. 

"  Early  this  morning  I  knew  I  had  to  light  out  for  the 
day,  and  I  didn't  want  to  go  any  more  than  a  gopher 
wants  to  go  into  a  rattlesnake's  den.  But  I  had  to  keep 
my  word.  Then  Spotted  Tail  gets  notions " 

"Spotted  Tail?"  she  interrupted. 

"My  horse,"  he  grinned  at  her.  "He  gets  notions. 
Maybe  he  wants  to  get  away  as  much  as  I  want  to  stay. 
Anyhow,  he  was  in  a  hurry ;  and  things  shape  up  so  that 
I've  got  to  stay. 

"And  then,  when  I  hang  around  the  bunkhouse  all 
morning,  worrying  because  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  out  that 
I  didn't  keep  my  word,  and  that  I'm  still  here,  you  send 
word  that  you'll  not  object  to  me  coming  on  the  porch 
with  you.  I'd  call  that  a  misjudgment  all  around  —  on 
my  part." 

"Yes  —  it  was  that,"  she  told  him.  "You  certainly 
are  entitled  to  the  comforts  of  your  own  house  —  espe 
cially  when  you  are  hurt.  But  are  you  sure  you  worried 
because  you  were  afraid  I  would  discover  you  were 
here?" 

"  I  expect  you  can  prove  that  by  looking  at  me,  Miss 
Harlan  —  noticing  that  I've  got  thin  and  pale-looking 
since  you  saw  me  last  ?  " 

She  threw  a  demure  glance  at  him.    "  I  am  afraid  you 


102  THE  RANCHMAN 

are  in  great  danger;  you  do  not  look  nearly  as  well  as 
when  I  saw  you,  the  first  time,  on  the  train." 

He  looked  gravely  at  her. 

"  The  porter  threw  them  out  of  the  window,"  he  said. 
"  That  is,  I  gave  him  orders  to." 

"What?"  she  said,  perplexed.  "I  don't  understand. 
What  did  the  porter  throw  out  of  the  window?  " 

"  My  dude  clothes,"  he  said. 

So  he  had  observed  the  ridicule  in  her  eyes. 

She  met  his  gaze,  and  both  laughed. 

He  had  been  curious  about  her  all  along,  and  he  art 
fully  questioned  her  about  Westwood,  gradually  drawing 
from  her  the  rather  unexciting  details  of  her  life.  Yet 
these  details  were  chiefly  volunteered,  Taylor  noticed, 
and  did  not  result  entirely  from  his  questions. 

Carrington's  name  came  into  the  discussion,  also,  and 
Parsons.  Taylor  discovered  that  Carrington  and  Par 
sons  had  been  partners  in  many  business  deals,  and  that 
they  had  come  to  Dawes  because  the  town  offered  many 
possibilities.  The  girl  quoted  Carrington's  words ;  Taylor 
was  convinced  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  character  of 
the  business  the  men  had  come  to  Dawes  to  transact. 

Their  talk  strayed  to  minor  subjects  and  to  those  of 
great  importance,  ranging  from  a  discussion  of  prairie 
hens  to  sage  comment  upon  certain  abstruse  philosophy. 
Always,  however,  the  personal  note  was  dominant  and 
the  personal  interest  acute. 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER"  103 

That  atmosphere  —  the  deep  interest  of  each  for  the 
other  —  made  their  conversation  animated.  For  half  the 
time  the  girl  paid  no  attention  to  Taylor's  words.  She 
watched  him  when  he  talked,  noting  the  various  shades 
of  expression  of  his  eyes,  the  curve  of  his  lips,  wondering 
at  the  deep  music  of  his  voice.  She  marveled  that  at 
first  she  had  thought  him  uninteresting  and  plain. 

For  she  had  discovered  that  he  was  rather  good-look 
ing  ;  that  he  was  endowed  with  a  natural  instinct  to  reach 
accurate  and  logical  conclusions;  that  he  was  quiet-man 
nered  and  polite  —  and  a  gentleman.  Her  first  impres 
sions  of  him  had  not  been  correct,  for  during  their  talk 
she  discovered  through  casual  remarks,  that  Taylor  had 
been  educated  with  some  care,  that  his  ancestors  were  of 
that  sturdy  American  stock  which  had  made  the  settling 
of  the  eastern  New- World  wilderness  possible,  and  that 
there  was  in  his  manner  the  unmistakable  gentleness  of 
good  breeding. 

However.  Taylor's  first  impressions  of  the  girl  had 
endured  without  amendations.  At  a  glance  he  had  yielded 
to  the  spell  of  her,  and  the  intimate  and  informal  con 
versation  carried  on  between  them;  the  flashes  of  per 
sonality  he  caught  merely  served  to  convince  him  of  her 
desirability. 

Twice  during  their  talk  Martha  cleared  her  throat  sig 
nificantly  and  loudly,  trying  to  attract  their  attention. 

The  efforts  bore  no  fruit,  and  Martha  might  have  been 


104 THE  RANCHMAN 

entirely  forgotten  if  she  had  not  finally  got  to  her  feet 
and  laid  a  hand  on  Marion's  shoulder. 

"  I's  gwine  to  lie  down  a  spell,  honey,"  she  said.  "  You- 
all  don't  need  no  third  party  to  entertain  you.  An'  I's 
powerful  tiahd."  And  over  the  girl's  shoulder  she  smiled 
broadly  and  sympathetically  at  Taylor. 

The  sun  was  filling  the  western  level  with  a  glowing, 
golden  haze  when  Miss  Harlan  got  to  her  feet  and 
announced  that  she  was  going  home. 

"It's  the  first  day  I  have  really  enjoyed,"  she  told 
Taylor  as  she  sat  in  the  saddle,  looking  at  him.  He  had 
got  up  and  was  standing  at  the  porch  edge.  "  That  is,  it 
is  the  first  enjoyable  day  I  have  passed  since  I  have  been 
here,"  she  added. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that  I've  been  exactly  bored  myself," 
he  grinned  at  her.  "But  I'm  not  so  sure  about  Friday; 
for  if  you  come  Friday  the  chances  are  that  my  ankle 
will  be  well  again,  and  I'll  have  to  make  myself  scarce. 
You  see,  my  excuse  will  be  gone." 

Martha  was  sitting  on  her  horse  close  by,  and  her  eyes 
were  dancing. 

"  Don'  you  go  an'  bust  your  haid,  Mr.  Taylor ! "  she 
warned.  "  I  knows  somebuddy  that  \vould  be  powerful 
sorry  if  that  would  happen  to  you!" 

"  Martha ! "  said  Marion  severely.  But  her  eyes  were 
eloquent  as  they  met  Taylor's  twinkling  ones;  and  she 
saw  a  deep  color  come  into  Taylor's  cheeks. 


"NO  FUN  FOOLING  HER" 105 

I 
Taylor  watched  her  until  she  grew  dim  in  the  distance ; 

then  he  turned  and  faced  the  tall  young  puncher,  who  ; 
had  stepped  upon  the  porch  and  had  been  standing  near. 

The  puncher  grinned.  "Takin'  'em  off  now,  boss?" 
he  asked. 

He  pointed  to  the  bandages  on  Taylor's  right  foot. 
In  one  of  the  young  puncher's  hands  was  Taylor's  right 
boot. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Taylor. 

He  sat  down  in  the  rocker  he  had  occupied  all  after-, 
noon,  and  the  young  puncher  removed  the  bandages,  re- 1 
vealing  Taylor's  bare  foot  and  ankle,  with  no  bruise  or  i 
swelling  to  mar  the  white  skin. 

Taylor  drew  on  the  sock  which  the  puncher  drew  from  | 
the  boot;  then  he  pulled  on  the  boot  and  stood  up. 

The  puncher  was  grinning  hugely,  but  no  smile  was  on 
,Taylor's  face. 

"It  worked,  boss,"  said  the  puncher;  "she  didn't 
tumble.  I  thought  I'd  laff  my  head  off  when  I  seen  her 
fixin'  the  pillow  for  you  —  an'  your  foot  not  hurt  more 
than  mine.  You  ought  to  be  plumb  tickled,  pullin'  off  a 
trick  like  that ! " 

"I  ain't  a  heap  tickled,"  declared  Taylor  glumly. 
"There's  no  fun  in  fooling  her!" 

Which  indicated  that  Taylor's  thoughts  were  now 
serious. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LIFTING  THE  MASK 

ELAM  PARSONS  awoke  early  in  the  morning  fol 
lowing  that  on  which  Marion  Harlan's  visit  to  the 
Arrow  occurred.  He  lay  for  a  long  time  smiling  at  the 
ceiling,  with  a  feeling  that  something  pleasurable  was  in 
store  for  him,  but  not  able  to  determine  what  that  some 
thing  was. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Parsons  remembered. 

•  When  he  had  got  out  of  bed  the  previous  morning  he 

had  discovered  the  absence  of  Marion  and  Martha.    Also, 

he  found  that  two  of  the  horses  were  missing  —  Marion's, 

and  one  of  the  others  he  had  personally  bought. 

Parsons  spent  the  day  in  Dawes.  Shortly  before  dusk 
he  got  on  his  horse  and  rode  homeward.  Dismounting 
at  the  stable,  he  noted  that  the  two  absent  horses  had  not 
come  in.  He  grinned  disagreeably  and  went  into  the 
house.  He  emerged  almost  instantly,  for  Marion  and 
Martha  had  not  returned. 

Later  he  saw  them,  Marion  leading,  coming  up  the 
slope  that  led  to  the  level  upon  which  the  house  stood. 

Marion  had  retired  early,  and  after  she  had  gone  to  her 
room  Parsons  had  questioned  Martha. 

106 


LIFTING  THE  MASK 10T 

Twice  while  getting  into  his  clothes  this  morning  Par* 
sons  chuckled  audibly.  There  was  malicious  amusement 
in  the  sound. 

Once  he  caught  himself  saying  aloud : 

"I  knew  it  would  come,  sooner  or  later.  And  she's 
picked  out  the  clodhopper!  This  will  tickle  Carring- 
ton!" 

Again  he  laughed  —  such  a  laugh  as  the  good  people 
of  West  wood  might  have  used  had  they  known  what 
Parsons  knew  —  that  Marion  Harlan  had  visited  a 
stranger  at  his  ranchhouse  —  a  lonely  place,  far  from 
prying  eyes. 

Parsons  hated  the  girl  as  heartily  as  he  had  hated  her 
father.  He  hated  her  because  of  her  close  resemblance  to 
her  parent;  and  he  had  hated  Larry  Harlan  ever  since 
their  first  meeting. 

Parsons  likewise  had  no  affection  for  Carrington. 
They  had  been  business  associates  for  many  years,  and 
their  association  had  been  profitable  for  both;  but  there 
was  none  of  that  respect  and  admiration  which  marks 
many  partnerships. 

On  several  occasions  Carrington  had  betrayed  greedi 
ness  in  the  division  of  the  spoils  of  their  ventures.  But 
Carrington  was  the  strong  man,  ruthless  and  determined, 
and  Parsons  was  forced  to  nurse  his  resentment  in  silence. 
He  meant  some  day,  however,  to  repay  Carrington,  and 
he  lost  no  opportunity  to  harass  him. 


IPS THE  RANCHMAN 

And  yet  it  had  been  Parsons  who  had  brought  Carring- 
ton  to  Westwood  two  years  before.  He  knew  Car- 
rington;  he  knew  something  of  the  big  man's  way  with 
women,  of  his  merciless  treatment  of  them.  And  he  had 
invited  Carrington  to  Westwood,  hoping  that  the  big 
man  would  add  Marion  Harlan  to  his  list  of  victims. 

So  far,  Carrington  had  made  little  progress.  This  fact, 
contrary  to  Parsons'  principles,  had  afforded  the  man 
secret  enjoyment.  He  liked  to  see  Carrington  squirm 
under  disappointment.  He  anticipated  much  pleasure  in 
watching  Carrington's  face  when  he  should  tell  him  where 
Marion  had  been  the  day  before. 

He  breakfasted  alone  —  early  —  chuckling  his  joy. 
And  shortly  after  he  left  the  table  he  was  on  a  horse, 
riding  toward  Dawes. 

He  reached  town  about  eight  and  went  directly  to  Car 
rington's  rooms  in  the  Castle. 

Carrington  had  shaved  and  washed,  and  was  sitting  at 
a  front  window,  coatless,  his  hair  uncombed,  when 
Parsons  knocked  on  the  door. 

"You're  back,  eh?"  said  Parsons  as  he  took  a  chair 
near  the  window.  "Danforth  was  telling  me  you  went 
to  see  the  governor.  Did  you  fix  it  ? " 

Carrington  grinned.  "Taylor  was  to  take  the  oath 
today.  He  won't  take  it  —  at  least,  not  the  sort  of  oath 
he  expected." 

"  It's  lucky  you  knew  the  governor." 


LIFTING  THE  MASK  109 

"H-m."  The  grim  grunt  indicated  that,  governor  or 
no  governor,  Carrington  would  not  be  denied. 

Parsons  smirked.  But  Carrington  detected  an  unusual 
quality  in  the  smirk  —  something  more  than  satisfaction 
over  the  success  of  the  visit  to  the  governor.  There  was 
malicious  amusement  in  the  smirk,  and  anticipation.  Par 
sons'  expressed  satisfaction  was  not  over  what  had  hap 
pened,  but  over  what  was  going  to  happen. 

Carrington  knew  Parsons,  and  therefore  Carrington 
gave  no  sign  of  what  he  had  seen  in  Parsons'  face.  He 
talked  of  Dawes  and  of  their  own  prospects.  But  once, 
when  Carrington  mentioned  Marion  Harlan,  quite  cas 
ually,  he  noted  that  Parsons'  eyes  widened. 

But  Parsons  said  nothing  on  the  subject  which  had 
brought  him  until  he  had  talked  for  half  an  hour.  Then, 
noting  that  his  manner  had  aroused  Carrington's  interest, 
he  said  softly : 

"  This  man,  Taylor,  seems  destined  to  get  in  your  way, 
doesn't  he?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  Carrington  shortly. 

"  Do  you  remember  telling  me  —  on  the  train,  with  this 
man,  Taylor,  listening  —  that  your  story  to  Marion,  of 
her  father  having  been  seen  in  this  locality,  was  a  fairy 
tale  —  without  foundation  ?  " 

At  Carrington's  nod  Parsons  continued: 

"  Well,  it  seems  it  was  not  a  fairy  tale,  after  all.  For 
Larry  Harlan  was  in  his  section  for  two  or  three  years ! " 


110 THE  RANCHMAN 

'"Who  told  you  that?"  Carrington  slid  forward  in 
his  chair  and  was  looking  hard  at  Parsons. 

Parsons  was  enjoying  the  other's  astonishment,  and 
Parsons  was  not  to  be  hurried  —  he  wanted  to  taste  the 
flavor  of  his  news;  it  was  as  good  to  his  palate  as  a  choice 
morsel  of  food  to  the  palate  of  a  disciple  of  Epicurus. 

"It  came  in  a  sort  of  roundabout  way,  I  understand," 
said  Parsons.  "  It  seems  that  during  your  absence  Marion 
made  a  number  of  inquiries  about  her  father.  Then  a 
man  named  Ben  Mullarky  rode  over  to  the  house  and 
told  her  that  Larry  had  been  in  this  country  —  that  he 
had  worked  for  the  Arrow." 

"That's  Taylor's  ranch,"  said  Carrington.  A'  deep 
scowl  furrowed  his  forehead ;  his  lips  extended  in  a  sullen 
pout. 

Parsons  was  enjoying  him.  "Taylor  again,  eh?"  he 
said  softly.  "First,  he  appears  on  the  train,  where  he 
gets  an  earful  of  something  we  don't  want  him  to  hear; 
then  he  is  elected  mayor,  which  is  detrimental  to  our  in 
terests;  then  we  discover  that  Larry  Harlan  \vorked  for 
him.  You'll  be  interested  to  know  that  Marion  went 
right  over  to  the  Arrow  —  in  fact,  she  spent  part  of  Mon 
day  there,  and  practically  all  of  yesterday.  More,  Taylor 
has  invited  her  to  come  whenever  she  wants  to." 

"  She  went  alone  ?  "  demanded  Carrington. 

"  With  Martha,  my  negro  housekeeper.  But  that  —  " 
Parsons  made  a  gesture  of  derision  and  went  on :  "  Martha 


LIFTING  THE  MASK  111 

says  Taylor  was  there  with  her,  and  that  the  two  of 
them  —  with  Martha  asleep  in  the  house  —  spent  the 
entire  afternoon  on  the  porch,  talking  rather  intimately." 

To  Parsons'  surprise  Carrington  did  not  betray  the 
perturbation  Parsons  expected.  The  scowl  was  still  fur 
rowing  his  forehead,  his  lips  were  still  in  the  sullen  pout ; 
but  he  said  nothing,  looking  steadily  at  Parsons. 

At  last  his  lips  moved  slightly;  Parsons  could  see  the 
clenched  teeth  between  them. 

"Where's  Larry  Harlan  now?" 

Parsons  related  the  story  told  him  by  Martha  —  which 
had  been  imparted  to  the  negro  woman  by  Marion  in 
confidence  —  that  Larry  Harlan  had  been  accidentally 
killed,  searching  for  a  mine. 

When  Parsons  finished  Carrington  got  up.  There 
was  a  grin  on  his  face  as  he  stepped  to  where  Parsons  sat 
and  placed  his  two  hands  heavily  on  the  other's  shoul 
ders. 

There  was  a  grin  on  his  face,  but  his  eyes  were  agleam 
with  a  slumbering  passion  that  made  Parsons  catch  his 
breath  with  a  gasp.  And  his  voice,  low,  and  freighted 
with  menace,  caused  Parsons  to  quake  with  terror. 

"Parsons,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  understand  this: 
I  am  going  to  be  the  law  out  here.  I'll  run  things  to  suit 
myself.  I'll  have  no  half-hearted  loyalty,  and  I'll  destroy 
any  man  who  opposes  me !  Those  who  are  not  with  me 
to  the  last  gasp  are  against  me ! "  He  laughed,  and  Par- 


112 THE  RANCHMAN 

sons  felt  the  man's  hot  breath  on  his  face  —  so  close  was 
it  to  his  own. 

"  I  was  born  a  thousand  years  too  late,  Parsons ! "  he 
went  on.  "I  am  a  robber  baron  brought  down  to  date 
—  modernized.  I  believe  that  in  me  flows  the  blood  of  a 
pirate,  a  savage,  or  an  ancient  king ;  I  have  all  the  instincts 
of  a  tribal  chief  whose  principles  are  to  rule  or  ruin! 
I'll  have  no  law  out  here  but  my  own  desires ;  and  hypoc 
risy —  in  others  —  doesn't  appeal  to  me! 

"  You've  told  me  a  tale  that  interested  me,  but  in  the 
telling  of  it  you  made  one  mistake  —  you  enjoyed  the  dis 
comfiture  you  thought  it  would  give  me.  You  tingled 
with  malice.  Just  to  show  you  that  I'll  not  tolerate  dis-. 
loyalty  from  you — even  in  thought  —  I'm  going  to 
punish  you." 

He  dropped  his  big  hands  to  Parsons'  throat,  shut* 
ting  off  the  incipient  scream  that  issued  from  between 
the  /nan's  lips.  Parsons  fought  with  all  his  strength  to 
escape  the  grip  of  the  iron  fingers  at  his  throat,  twisting 
and  squirming  frenziedly  in  the  chair.  But  the  fingers 
tightened  their  grip,  and  when  the  man's  face  began  to 
turn  blue-black,  Carrington  released  him  and  looked  down 
at  his  victim,  laughing  vibrantly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SHADOW   OF  TROUBLE 

LAM  recovered  slowly,  for  Carrington  had  choked 
him  into  unconsciousness.  Out  of  the  blank,  dark 
coma  Parsons  came,  his  brain  reeling,  his  body  racked 
with  agonizing  pains.  His  hands  went  to  his  throat 
before  he  could  open  his  eyes;  he  pulled  at  the  flesh  to 
ease  the  constriction  that  still  existed  there;  he  caught 
his  breath  in  great  gasps  that  shrilled  through  the  room. 
And  when  at  last  he  succeeded  in  getting  his  breath  to 
come  regularly,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  Carrington 
seated  in  a  chair  near  him,  watching  him  with  a  cold, 
speculative  smile. 

He  heard  Carrington's  voice  saying:  "Pretty  close, 
wasn't  it,  Parsons?"  But  he  did  not  answer;  his  vocal 
cords  were  still  partially  paralyzed. 

He  closed  his  eyes  again  and  stretched  out  in  the  chair. 
Carrington  thought  he  had  fainted,  but  Parsons  was 
merely  resting — and  thinking. 

His  thoughts  were  not  pleasant.  Many  times  during 
the  years  of  their  association  he  had  seen  the  beast  in 
Carrington's  eyes,  but  this  was  the  first  time  Carrington 
had  even  shown  it  in  his  presence,  naked  and  ugly.  Car- 

113 


114 THE  RANCHMAN 

rington  had  told  him  many  times  that  were  he  not  hemmea 
in  with  laws  and  courts  he  would  tramp  ruthlessly  over 
every  obstacle  that  got  in  his  way;  and  Parsons  knew 
now  that  the  man  had  meant  what  he  said.  The  beast  in 
him  was  rampant;  his  passions  were  to  have  free  rein; 
he  had  thrown  off  the  shackles  of  civilization  and  was 
prepared  to  do  murder  to  attain  his  aims. 

Parsons  realized  his  own  precarious  predicament.  Car- 
rington  controlled  every  cent  Parsons  owned  —  it  was  in 
the  common  pool,  which  was  in  Carrington's  charge. 
Parsons  might  leave  Dawes,  but  his  money  must  stay  — 
Carrington  would  never  give  it  up.  More,  Parsons  was 
now  afraid  to  ask  for  an  accounting  or  a  division,  for 
fear  Carrington  would  kill  him. 

Parsons  knew  he  must  stay  in  Dawes,  and  that  from 
now  on  he  must  play  lackey  to  the  master  who,  at  last  in 
an  environment  that  suited  him,  had  so  ruthlessly  demon 
strated  his  principles. 

In  a  spirit  of  abject  surrender  Parsons  again  opened 
his  eyes  and  sat  up.  Carrington  rose  and  again  stood 
over  him. 

"You  understand  now,  Parsons,  I'm  running  things. 
You  stay  in  the  background.  If  you  interfere  with  me 
I'll  kill  you.  I'll  kill  you  if  you  laugh  at  me  again.  Your 
job  out  here  is  to  take  care  of  Marion  Harlan.  You're  to 
keep  her  here.  If  she  gets  away  I'll  manhandle  you! 
Now  get  out  of  here!" 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE      115 

An  hour  later  Parsons  was  sitting  on  the  front  porch 
of  the  big  house,  staring  vacantly  out  into  the  big  level 
below  him,  his  heart  full  of  hatred  and  impotent  resent 
ment;  his  brain,  formerly  full  of  craft  and  guile,  now 
temporarily  atrophied  through  its  attempts  to  compre 
hend  the  new  character  of  tne  man  who  had  throttled  him. 

In  Dawes,  Carrington  was  getting  into  his  clothing. 
He  was  smiling,  his  eyes  glowing  with  grim  satisfaction. 
At  nine  o'clock  Carrington  descended  the  stairs,  stopped 
in  the  hotel  lobby  to  light  a  cigar ;  then  crossed  the  street 
and  went  into  the  courthouse,  where  he  was  greeted 
effusively  by  Judge  Littlefield.  Quinton  Taylor,  too,  was 
going  to  the  courthouse. 

This  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  according  to  information 
received  from  Neil  Norton  —  sent  to  Taylor  by  messenger 
the  night  before  —  Taylor  was  to  take  the  oath  of  office. 

Taylor  was  conscious  of  the  honor  bestowed  upon  him 
by  the  people  of  Dawes,  though  at  first  he  had  demurred, 
pointing  out  that  he  was  not  actually  a  resident  of  the 
town  —  the  Arrow  lying  seven  miles  southward.  But 
this  objection  had  been  met  and  dismissed  by  his  friends, 
who  had  insisted  that  he  was  a  resident  of  the  town  by 
virtue  of  his  large  interests  there,  and  from  the  fact  that 
he  occupied  an  apartment  above  the  Dawes  bank,  and 
that  he  spent  more  time  in  it  than  he  spent  in  the  Arrow 
ranchhouse. 

But  on  the  ride  to  Dawes  —  on  Spotted  Tail — (this 


116  THE  RANCHMAN 

morning  wonderfully  docile  despite  Tuesday's  slander  by 
his  master)  — Taylor's  thoughts  dwelt  not  upon  the  honor 
that  was  to  be  his,  but  upon  the  questionable  trick  he  had 
played  on  Marion  Harlan,  with  the  able  assistance  of  the 
tall  young  puncher,  Bud  Hemmingway. 

He  looked  down  at  the  foot,  now  unbandaged,  with  a 
frown.  The  girl's  complete  and  matter-of-fact  belief  in 
the  story  of  his  injury;  her  sympathy  and  deep  concern; 
the  self-accusation  in  her  eyes;  the  instant  pardon  she 
had  granted  him  for  staying  at  the  ranchhouse  when  he 
should  not  have  stayed  —  all  these  he  arrayed  against  the 
bald  fact  that  he  had  tricked  her.  And  he  felt  decidedly 
guilty. 

And  yet  somehow  there  was  some  justification  for  the 
trick.  It  was  the  justification  of  desire.  The  things  a 
man  wants  are  not  to  be  denied  by  the  narrow  standards 
of  custom.  Does  a  man  miss  an  opportunity  to  establish 
acquaintance  with  a  girl  he  has  fallen  in  love  with,  merely 
because  custom  has  decreed  that  she  shall  not  come 
unattended  —  save  by  a  negro  woman  —  to  his  house? 

Taylor  made  desire  his  justification,  and  his  sense  of 
guilt  was  dispelled  by  half. 

Nor  was  the  guilt  so  poignant  that  it  rested  heavily  on 
his  conscience  since  he  had  done  no  harm  to  the  girl. 

What  harm  had  been  done  had  been  done  to  Taylor 
himself.  He  kept  seeing  Marion  as  she  sat  on  the  porch, 
and  the  spell  of  her  had  seized  him  so  firmly  that  last 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE 117 

night,  after  she  had  left,  the  ranchhouse  had  seemed  to  be 
nothing  more  than  four  walls  out  of  which  all  the  life  had 
gone.  He  felt  lonesome  this  morning,  and  was  in  the 
grip  of  a  nameless  longing. 

All  the  humor  had  departed  from  him.  For  the  first 
time  in  all  his  days  a  conception  of  the  meaning  of  life 
assailed  him,  revealing  to  him  a  glimpse  of  the  difficulties 
of  a  man  in  love.  For  a  man  may  love  a  girl :  his  diffi 
culties  begin  when  the  girl  seems  to  become  unattainable. 

Looming  large  in  Taylor's  thoughts  this  morning  was 
Carrington.  Having  overheard  Carrington  talking  of 
her  on  the  train,  Taylor  thought  he  knew  what  Carring 
ton  wanted;  but  he  was  in  doubt  regarding  the  state  of 
the  girl's  feelings  toward  the  man.  Had  she  yielded  to 
the  man's  intense  personal  magnetism? 

Carrington  was  handsome;  there  was  no  doubt  that 
almost  any  girl  would  be  flattered  by  his  attentions.  And 
had  Carrington  been  worthy  of  Marion,  Taylor  would 
have  entertained  no  hope  of  success  —  he  would  not  even 
have  thought  of  it. 

But  he  had  overheard  Carrington;  he  knew  the  man's 
nature  was  vile  and  bestial;  and  already  he  hated  him 
with  a  fervor  that  made  his  blood  riot  when  he  thought 
of  him. 

When  he  reached  Dawes  he  found  himself  hoping  that 
Marion  would  not  be  in  town  to  see  that  his  ankle  was 
unbandaged.  But  he  might  have  saved  himself  that  throb 


118 THE  RANCHMAN 

of  perturbation,  for  at  that  minute  Marion  was  standing 
in  the  front  room  of  the  big  house,  looking  out  of  one 
of  the  windows  at  Parsons,  wondering  what  had  hap 
pened  to  make  him  seem  so  glum  and  abstracted. 

When  Taylor  dismounted  in  front  of  the  courthouse 
there  were  several  men  grouped  on  the  sidewalk  near  the 
door. 

Neil  Norton  was  in  the  group,  and  he  came  forward, 
smiling. 

"  We're  here  to  witness  the  ceremony,"  he  told  Taylor. 

Taylor's  greeting  to  the  other  men  was  not  that  of  the 
professional  politician.  He  merely  grinned  at  them  and 
returned  a  short :  "  Well,  let's  get  it  over  with,"  to  Nor 
ton's  remark.  Then,  followed  by  his  friends,  he  entered 
the  courthouse. 

Taylor  knew  Judge  Littlefield.  He  had  no  admira 
tion  for  the  man,  and  yet  his  greeting  was  polite  and 
courteous  —  it  was  the  greeting  of  an  American  citizen 
to  an  official. 

Taylor's  first  quick  glance  about  the  interior  of  the 
courthouse  showed  him  Carrington.  The  latter  was  sit 
ting  in  an  armchair  near  a  window  toward  the  rear  of 
the  room.  He  smiled  as  Taylor's  glance  swept  him,  but 
Taylor  might  not  have  seen  the  smile.  For  Taylor  was 
deeply  interested  in  other  things. 

A  conception  of  the  serious  responsibility  that  he  was 
to  accept  assailed  him.  Until  now  the  thing  had  been 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE 119 

entirely  personal;  his  thoughts  had  centered  upon  the 
honor  that  was  to  be  his  —  his  friends  had  selected  him 
for  an  important  position.  And  yet  Taylor  was  not  vain. 

Now,  however,  ready  to  accept  the  oath  of  office,  he 
realized  that  he  was  to  become  the  servant  of  the  mu 
nicipality;  that  these  friends  of  his  had  elected  him  not 
merely  to  honor  him  but  because  they  trusted  him,  be 
cause  they  were  convinced  that  he  would  administer  the 
affairs  of  the  young  town  capably  and  in  a  fair  and  im 
partial  manner.  They  depended  upon  him  for  justice, 
advice,  and  guidance. 

All  these  things,  to  be  sure,  Taylor  would  give  them 
to  the  best  of  his  ability.  They  must  have  known  that 
or  they  would  not  have  elected  him. 

These  thoughts  sobered  him  as  he  walked  to  the  little 
wooden  railing  in  front  of  the  judge's  desk;  and  his  face 
was  grave  as  he  looked  at  the  other. 

"I  am  ready  to  take  the  oath,  Judge  Littlefield,"  he 
gravely  announced. 

Glancing  sidewise,  Taylor  saw  that  a  great  many  men 
had  come  into  the  room.  He  did  not  turn  to  look  at 
them,  however,  for  he  saw  a  gleam  in  Judge  Littlefield's 
eyes  that  held  his  attention. 

"That  will  not  be  necessary,  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  heard 
the  judge  say.  "The  governor,  through  the  attorney- 
general,  has  ruled  you  were  not  legally  elected  to  the  office 
you  aspire  to.  Only  last  night  I  was  notified  of  the  deci- 


120 THE  RANCHMAN 

sion.  It  was  late,  or  I  should  have  taken  steps  to  apprise 
you  of  the  situation." 

Taylor  straightened.  He  heard  exclamations  from 
many  men  in  the  room;  he  was  conscious  of  a  tension 
that  had  come  into  the  atmosphere.  Some  men  scuffled 
their  feet;  and  then  there  was  a  deep  silence. 

Taylor  smiled  without  mirth.  His  dominant  emotion 
was  curiosity. 

"Not  legally  elected?"  he  said.     "Why?" 

The  judge  passed  a  paper  to  Taylor;  it  was  one  of  those 
that  had  been  delivered  to  the  judge  by  Carrington. 

The  judge  did  not  meet  Taylor's  eyes. 

"You'll  find  a  full  statement  of  the  case,  there," 
he  said.  "  Briefly,  however,  the  governor  finds  that  your 
name  did  not  appear  on  the  ballots." 

Norton,  who  had  been  standing  at  Taylor's  side  all 
along,  now  shoved  his  way  to  the  railing  and  leaned  over 
it,  his  face  white  with  wrath. 

"  There's  something  wrong  here,  Judge  Littlefield !  "  he 
charged.  "  Taylor's  name  was  on  every  ballot  that  was 
counted  for  him.  I  personally  examined  every  ballot!" 

The  judge  smiled  tolerantly,  almost  benignantly. 

"Of  course  —  to  be  sure,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Taylor's 
name  appeared  on  a  good  many  ballots;  his  friends  wrote 
it,  with  pencil,  and  otherwise.  But  the  law  expressly 
states  that  a  candidate's  name  must  be  printed.  There 
fore,  obeying  the  letter  of  the  law,  the  governor  has  ruledl 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE 121 

that  Mr.  Taylor  was  not  elected."  There  was  malicious 
satisfaction  in  Judge  Littlefield's  eyes  as  they  met  Tay 
lor's.  Taylor  could  see  that  the  judge  was  in  entire 
sympathy  with  the  influences  that  were  opposing  him, 
though  the  judge  tried,  with  a  grave  smile,  to  create  an 
impression  of  impartiality. 

"Under  the  governor's  ruling,  therefore,"  he  con 
tinued,  "and  acting  under  explicit  directions  from  the 
attorney-general,  I  am  empowered  to  administer  the  oath 
of  office  to  the  legally  elected  candidate,  David  Dan- 
forth.  Now,  if  Mr.  Danforth  is  in  the  courtroom,  and 
will  come  forward,  we  shall  conclude." 

Mr.  Danforth  was  in  the  courtroom;  he  was  sitting 
near  Carrington;  and  he  came  forward,  his  face  slightly 
flushed,  with  the  gaze  of  every  person  in  the  room  on 
him. 

He  smiled  apologetically  at  Taylor  as  he  reached  the 
railing,  extending  a  hand. 

"I'm  damned  sorry,  Taylor,"  he  declared.  "This  is 
all  a  surprise  to  me.  I  hadn't  any  doubt  that  they  would 
swear  you  in.  No  hard  feelings?" 

Taylor  had  been  conscious  of  the  humiliation  of  his 
position.  He  knew  that  his  friends  would  expect  him 
to  fight.  And  yet  he  felt  more  like  gracefully  yielding 
to  the  forces  which  had  barred  him  from  office  upon  the 
basis  of  so  slight  a  technicality.  And  despite  the  knowl 
edge  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  office,  he  would  have 


122 THE  RANCHMAN 

taken  Danf  crth's  hand,  had  he  not  at  that  instant  chanced 
to  glance  at  Carrington. 

The  latter's  eyes  were  aglow  with  a  vindictive  tri 
umph;  as  his  gaze  met  Taylor's,  his  lips  curved  with  a 
sneer. 

A  dark  passion  seized  Taylor— -the  bitter,  savage  rage 
of  jealousy.  The  antagonism  he  had  felt  for  Carrington 
that  day  on  the  train  when  he  had  heard  Carrington's 
voice  for  the  first  time  was  suddenly  intensified.  It  had 
been  growing  slowly,  provoked  by  his  knowledge  of  the 
man's  evil  designs  on  Marion  Harlan.  But  now  there 
had  come  into  the  first  antagonism  a  gripping  lust  to 
jijure  the  other,  a  determination  to  balk  him,  to  defeat 
him,  to  meet  him  on  his  own  ground  and  crush  him. 

For  Carrington's  sneer  had  caused  the  differences  be 
tween  them  to  become  sharply  personal;  it  would  make 
the  fight  that  was  brewing  between  the  two  men  not  a 
political  fight,  but  a  fight  of  the  spirit. 

Taylor  interpreted  the  sneer  as  a  challenge,  and  he  ac 
cepted  it.  His  eyes  gleamed  with  hatred  unmistakable 
as  they  held  Carrington's;  and  the  grin  on  his  lips  was 
the  cold,  unhumorous  grin  of  the  fighter  who  is  not  dis 
mayed  by  odds.  His  voice  was  low  and  sharp,  and  it 
carried  to  every  person  in  the  room  : 

"We  won't  shake,  Dan  forth;  you  are  not  particular 
enough  about  the  character  of  your  friends ! " 

The  look  was  significant,  and  it  compelled  the  eyes 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE 


of  all  of  Taylor's  friends,  so  that  Carrington  instantly 
found  himself  the  center  of  interest. 

However,  he  did  not  change  color  ;  on  his  face  a  bland 
smile  testified  to  his  entire  indifference  to  what  Taylor 
or  Taylor's  friends  thought  of  him. 

Taylor  grinned  mirthlessly  at  the  judge,  spoke  shortly 
to  Norton,  and  led  the  way  out  through  the  front  door, 
followed  by  a  number  of  his  friends. 

Norton  took  Taylor  into  his  office,  adjoining  the  court 
house,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  grumbling  pro 
fanely.  Outside  they  could  see  the  crowd  filing  down  the 
street,  voicing  its  opinion  of  the  startling  proceeding. 

"An  election  is  an  election,"  they  heard  one  man  say  —  » 
a  Taylor  sympathizer.  "What  difference  does  it  make 
that  Taylor's  name  wasn't  printed?  It's  a  dawg-gon*" 
frame-up,  that's  what  it  is  !  " 

* 

But  Danforth's  adherents  were  not  lacking;  and  there 
v/ere  arguments  in  loud,  vigorous  language  among  men 
who  passed  the  door  of  the  Eagle  office. 

<:I  could  have  printed  the  damned  ballots,  myself  —  if 
I  had  thought  it  necessary,"  mourned  Norton.  "And  now 
we're  skinned  out  of  it!" 

Norton's  disgust  was  complete  and  bitter;  he  had  slid 
down  in  the  chair,  his  chin  on  his  chest,  his  hands  shoved 
deep  into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers. 

Yet  his  dejection  had  not  infected  Taylor;  the  latter's 
lips  were  curved  in  a  faint  smile,  ironic  and  saturnine. 


124 THE  RANCHMAN 

It  was  plain,  to  Norton  that  whatever  humor  there  was 
in  the  situation  was  making  its  appeal  to  Taylor.  The 
thought  angered  Norton,  and  he  sat  up,  demanding 
sharply:  "Well,  what  in  hell  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

Taylor  grinned  at  the  other.  "  Nothing,  now,"  he  said. 
"  We  might  appeal  to  the  courts,  but  if  the  law  specifies 
that  a  candidate's  name  must  be  printed,  the  courts  would 
sustain  the  governor.  It  looks  to  me,  Norton,  as  though 
Carrington  and  Danforth  have  the  cards  stacked." 

Norton  groaned  and  again  slid  down  into  his  chair. 
He  heard  Taylor  go  out,  but  he  did  not  change  his  posi 
tion.  He  sat  there  with  his  eyes  closed,  profanely  accus 
ing  himself,  for  he  alone  was  to  blame  for  the  complete 
defeat  that  had  descended  upon  his  candidate;  and  he 
could  not  expect  Taylor  to  fight  a  law  which,  though 
unjust  »nd  arbitrary,  was  the  only  law  in  the  Territory. 

Taylor  had  not  gone  far.  He  stepped  into  the  door 
of  the  courthouse,  to  meet  Carrington,  who  was  coming 
out.  Danforth  and  Judge  Littlefield  were  talking  ani 
matedly  in  the  rear  of  the  room.  They  ceased  talking 
when  they  saw  Taylor,  and  faced  toward  him,  looking 
at  him  wonderingly. 

Carrington  halted  just  inside  the  threshold  of  the  door 
way,  and  he,  too,  watched  Taylor  curiously,  though  there 
was  a  bland,  sneering  smile  on  his  face. 

Taylor's  smile  as  he  looked  at  the  men  was  still  faintly 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE 125 

ironic,  and  his  eyes  were  agleam  with  a  light  that  baffled 
the  other  men  —  they  could  not  determine  just  what 
emotion  they  reflected. 

And  Taylor's  manner  was  as  quietly  deliberate  and 
nonchalant  as  though  he  had  merely  stepped  into  the 
room  for  a  social  visit.  His  gaze  swept  the  three  men. 

"Framing  up  —  again,  eh?"  he  said,  with  drawling 
emphasis.  "  You  sure  did  a  good  job  for  a  starter.  I 
just  stepped  in  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  —  all  of  you. 
To  you  first,  Littlefield."  And  now  his  eyes  held  the 
judge  —  they  seemed  to  squint  genially  at  the  man. 

"  I  happen  to  know  that  our  big,  sleek  four-flusher 
here"  —  nodding  toward  Carrington  —  "came  here  to 
loot  Dawes.  Quite  accidentally,  I  overheard  him  boast 
ing  of  his  intentions.  Danforth  was  sent  here  by  Car 
rington  more  than  a  year  ago  to  line  things  up,  politically. 
I  don't  know  how  many  are  in  the  game  —  and  I  don't 
care.  You  are  in  it,  Littlefield.  I  saw  that  by  the  delight 
you  took  in  informing  me  of  the  decision  of  the  attorney- 
general.  I  just  stepped  in  to  tell  you  that  I  know  what  is 
going  on,  and  to  warn  you  that  you  can't  do  it !  You  had 
better  pull  out  before  you  make  an  ass  of  yourself, 
Littlefield!" 

The  judge's  face  was  crimson.  "This  is  an  outrage, 
Taylor!"  he  sputtered.  "I'll  have  you  jailed  for  con 
tempt  of  court!" 

"  Not  you !  "  gibed  Taylor,  calmly.     "  You  haven't  the 


126 THE  RANCHMAN 

nerve!  I'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  have  you  do  it. 
You're  a  little  fuzzy  dog  that  doesn't  crawl  out  of  its 
kennel  until  it  hears  the  snap  of  its  master's  fingers! 
That's  all  for  you ! " 

He  grinned  at  Danforth,  felinely,  and  the  man  flushed 
under  the  odd  gleam  in  the  eyes  that  held  his. 

"  I  can  classify  you  with  one  word,  Dave,"  he  de 
clared  ;  "  you're  a  crook !  That  lets  you  out ;  you  do  what 
you  are  told ! " 

He  now  ignored  the  others  and  faced  Carrington. 

His  grin  faded  quickly,  the  lips  stiffening.  But  still 
there  was  a  hint  of  cold  humor  in  his  manner  that  created 
*he  impression  that  he  was  completely  in  earnest ;  that  he 
iras  keenly  enjoying  himself  and  that  he  did  not  feel 
at  all  tragic.  And  yet,  underlying  the  mask  of  humor, 
Carrington  saw  the  passionate  hatred  Taylor  felt  for 
him. 

Carrington  sneered.  He  attempted  to  smile,  but  the 
malevolent  bitterness  of  his  passions  turned  the  smile 
into  a  hideous  smirk.  He  had  hated  Taylor  at  first  sight ; 
and  now,  with  the  jealousy  provoked  by  the  knowledge 
that  Taylor  had  turned  his  eyes  toward  Marion  Harlan, 
the  hatred  had  become  a  lust  to  destroy  the  other. 

Before  Taylor  could  speak,  Carrington  stepped  toward 
him,  thrusting  his  face  close  to  Taylor's.  The  man  was 
in  the  grip  of  a  mighty  rage  that  bloated  his  face,  that 
made  his  breath  come  in  great  labored  gasps.  He  had 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TROUBLE 127 

not  meant  to  so  boldly  betray  his  hatred,  but  the  violence 
of  his  passions  drove  him  on. 

He  knew  that  Taylor  was  baiting  him,  mocking  him, 
taunting  him;  that  Taylor's  words  to  the  judge  and  to 
Danforth  had  been  uttered  with  the  grimly  humorous 
purpose  of  arousing  the  men  to  some  unwise  and  pre 
cipitate  action;  he  knew  that  Taylor  was  enjoying  the 
confusion  he  had  brought. 

But  Carrington  had  lost  his  self-control. 

Without  a  word,  but  with  a  smothered  imprecation  that: 
issued  gutturally  from  between  his  clenched  teeth,  he 
swung  a  fist  with  bitter  malignance  at  Taylor's  face. 

The  blow  did  not  land,  for  Taylor,  self-possessed  and 
alert,  had  been  expecting  it.  He  slipped  his  head  sidewisf? 
slightly,  evading  the  fist  by  a  narrow  margin,  and,  tensed,, 
his  muscles  taut,  he  drove  his  own  right  fist  upward,, 
heavily. 

Carrington,  reeling  forward  under  the  impetus  of  the 
force  he  had  expended,  ran  fairly  into  the  fist.  It  crashed 
to  the  point  of  his  jaw  and  he  was  unconscious,  rigid, 
and  upright  on  his  feet  in  the  instant  before  he  sagged 
and  tumbled  headlong  out  through  the  open  doorway; 
into  the  street. 

With  a  bound,  his  face  set  in  a  mirthless  grin,  Taylor 
was  after  him,  landing  beyond  him  in  the  windrowed  dusf 
at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  ready  and  willing  to  admin 
ister  further  punishment. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 

SLOUCHING  in  his  chair,  in  an  attitude  of  complete 
dejection,  Neil  Norton  was  glumly  digesting  the 
dregs  of  defeat. 

The  Eagle  office  adjoined  the  courthouse.  Both  were 
one-story  frame  structures,  flimsy,  with  one  thin  wall  be 
tween  them;  and  to  Norton's  ears  as  he  sat  with  his 
unpleasant  thoughts,  came  the  sound  of  voices,  muffled, 
but  resonant.  Someone  was  speaking  with  force  and 
insistence.  Norton  attuned  his  ears  to  the  voice.  It  was 
then  he  discovered  there  was  only  one  voice,  and  that 
Taylor's. 

He  sat  erect,  both  hands  gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
Then  he  got  up,  walked  to  the  front  door  of  the  Eagle 
office,  and  looked  out.  He  was  just  in  time  to  see  Car- 
rington  tumble  out  through  the  door  of  the  courthouse 
and  land  heavily  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  build 
ing.  Immediately  afterward  he  saw  Taylor  follow. 

Norton  exclaimed  his  astonishment,  and  he  saw  Taylor 
turn  toward  him,  a  broad,  mirthless  grin  on  his  face. 

"Good  Heavens  1"  breathed  Norton,  "he's  started  a 

ruckus ! " 

128 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 129 

Taylor  had  not  moved.  He  was  looking  at  Norton 
when  a  man  leaped  from  the  door  of  the  courthouse, 
straight  at  him.  It  was  Danforth,  his  face  hideous  with 
rage. 

Taylor  sensed  the  movement,  wheeled,  stumbled,  and 
lost  his  balance  just  as  Danforth  crashed  against  him. 
The  two  men  went  down  in  a  heap  into  the  deep  dust 
of  the  street,  rolling  over  and  over. 

Danforth's  impetus  had  given  him  the  initial  advan 
tage,  and  he  was  making  the  most  of  it.  His  fists  were 
working  into  Taylor's  face  as  they  rolled  in  the  dust, 
his  arms  swinging  like  flails.  Taylor,  caught  almost  un 
prepared,  could  not  get  into  a  position  to  defend  himself. 
He  shielded  his  face  somewhat  by  holding  his  chin  close 
to  his  chest  and  hunching  his  shoulders  up;  but  Danforth 
landed  some  blows. 

There  came  an  instant,  however,  when  Taylor's  sur 
prise  over  the  assault  changed  to  resentment  over  the  pun 
ishment  he  was  receiving.  He  had  struck  Carrington  in 
self-defense,  and  he  had  not  expected  the  attack  by 
Danforth. 

Norton,  also  surprised,  saw  that  his  friend  was  at  a 
disadvantage,  and  he  was  running  forward  to  help  him 
when  he  saw  Taylor  roll  on  top  of  Danforth. 

To  Norton's  astonishment,  Taylor  did  not  seem  to  be 
in  a  vicious  humor,  despite  the  blows  Danforth  had  landed 
on  him.  Taylor  came  out  of  the  smother  with  a  grin  on 


130 THE  RANCHMAN 

his  face,  wide  and  exultant,  and  distinctly  visible  to 
Norton  in  spite  of  the  streaks  of  dust  that  covered  it. 
Taylor  shook  his  head,  his  hair  erupting  a  heavy  cloud. 
Then  he  got  up,  permitting  Dan  forth  to  do  likewise. 

Regaining  his  feet,  Danforth  threw  himself  headlong 
toward  Taylor,  cursing,  his  face  working  with  malignant 
rage.  When  Taylor  hit  him  the  dust  flew  from  Dan- 
forth's  clothes  as  it  rolls  from  a  dirty  carpet  flayed  with  a 
beater.  Danforth  halted,  his  knees  sagged,  his  head  wab 
bled.  But  Taylor  gave  him  a  slight  respite,  and  he  came 
on  again. 

This  time  Taylor  met  him  with  a  smother  of  sharp, 
deadening  uppercuts  that  threw  the  man  backward,  his 
mouth  open,  his  eyes  closed.  He  fell,  sagging  backward, 
his  knees  unjointed,  without  a  sound. 

And  now  Norton  was  not  the  only  spectator.  Far  up 
the  street  a  man  had  emerged  from  a  doorway.  He  saw 
the  erupting  volcanoes  of  dust  in  the  street,  and  he  ran 
back,  shouting,  "Fight!  Fight!" 

Dawes  had  seen  many  fights,  and  had  grown  accus 
tomed  to  them.  But  there  is  always  novelty  in  another, 
and  long  before  Danforth  had  received  the  blows  that  had 
rendered  him  inactive,  nearly  all  the  doors  of  Dawes's 
buildings  were  vomiting  men.  They  came,  seemingly,  in 
endless  streams,  in  groups,  in  twos  and  singly,  eager,  ex 
cited,  all  the  streams  converging  at  the  street  in  front 
of  the  courthouse. 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIG  PITER 131 

Mindful  of  the  ethics  in  an  affair  of  this  kind,  the 
crowd  kept  considerately  at  a  distance,  permitting  the 
fighting  men  to  continue  at  their  work  without  interfer 
ence,  with  plenty  of  room  for  their  energetic  movements. 

Word  ran  from  lip  to  lip  that  Taylor,  stung  by  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  office  to  which 
he  had  been  elected,  had  attacked  Carrington  and  Dan- 
forth  with  the  grim  purpose  of  punishing  them  personally 
for  their  misdeeds. 

Taylor  was  aware  of  the  gathering  crowd.  When  he 
had  delivered  the  blows  that  had  finished  his  political 
rival,  he  saw  the  dense  mass  of  men  in  the  street  around 
him;  and  he  felt  that  all  Dawes  had  assembled. 

There  was  still  no  rancor  in  Taylor's  heart;  the  same 
savage  humor  which  had  driven  him  into  the  courthouse 
to  acquaint  Carrington  and  the  others  with  his  knowledge 
of  their  designs,  still  gripped  him.  He  had  not  meant 
to  force  a  fight,  but  neither  had  he  any  intention  of  per 
mitting  Carrington  and  Danforth  to  inflict  physical  pun 
ishment  upon  him. 

But  a  malicious  devil  had  seized  him.  He  knew  that 
what  he  had  done  would  be  magnified  and  distorted  by 
Carrington,  Danforth,  and  the  judge;  that  they  would 
charge  him  with  the  blame  for  it ;  that  he  faced  the  proba 
bility  of  a  jail  sentence  for  defending  himself.  And  he 
was  determined  to  complete  the  work  he  had  started. 

Therefore,  having  disposed  of  Danforth,  he  grinned  at 


132 THE  RANCHMAN 

the  eager,  excited  faces  that  hemmed  him  about,  and 
wheeled  toward  Carrington. 

He  was  just  in  time.  For  Carrington,  not  badly  hurt 
by  Taylor's  blow,  which  had  catapulted  him  out  of  the 
door  of  the  courthouse,  had  been  standing  back  a  little, 
awaiting  an  opportunity.  The  swiftness  of  Taylor's 
movements  had  prevented  interference  by  Carrington;  but 
now,  with  Dan  forth  down,  Carrington  saw  his  chance. 

Without  a  word,  Carrington  lunged  forward.  They 
met  with  a  shock  that  caused  the  dry  dust  to  splay  and 
spume  upward  and  outward  in  thin,  minute  streaks  like 
the  leaping,  spraying  waters  of  a  fountain.  They  were 
lost,  momentarily,  in  a  haze,  as  the  dust  fell  and  enveloped 
them. 

They  emerged  from  the  blot  presently,  Carrington  stag 
gering,  his  chin  on  his  chest,  his  eyes  glazed  —  Taylor 
crowding  him  closely.  For  while  they  had  been  lost  in 
the  smother  of  dust,  Taylor  had  landed  a  deadening 
uppercut  on  the  big  man's  chin. 

The  big  man's  brain  was  befogged;  and  yet  he  still 
retained  presence  of  mind  enough  to  shield  his  chin  from 
another  of  those  terrific  blows.  He  had  crossed  his  arms 
over  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  fending  off  Taylor's  fists 
with  his  elbows. 

A  Dan  forth  man  in  the  crowd  called  on  Carrington  to 
"  wallop  "  Taylor,  and  the  big  man's  answering  grin  indi 
cated  that  he  was  not  as  badly  hurt  as  he  seemed. 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 133 

Almost  instantly  he  demonstrated  that,  for  when  Tay 
lor,  still  following  him,  momentarily  left  an  opening, 
Carrington  stepped  quickly  forward  and  struck — his  big 
arm  flashing  out  with  amazing  rapidity. 

The  heavy  fist  landed  high  on  Taylor's  head  above 
the  ear.  It  was  not  a  blow  that  would  have  finished  the 
fight,  even  had  it  landed  lower,  but  it  served  to  warn 
Taylor  that  his  antagonist  was  still  strong,  and  he  went 
in  more  warily. 

The  advantage  of  the  fight  was  all  with  Taylor.  For 
Taylor  was  cool  and  deliberate,  while  Carrington,  raging 
over  the  blows  he  had  received,  and  in  the  clutch  of  a  bit 
ter  desire  to  destroy  his  enemy,  wasted  much  energy  in 
swinging  wildly. 

The  inaccuracy  of  Carrington's  hitting  amused  Taylor; 
the  men  in  the  crowd  about  him  could  see  his  lips  writhing 
in  a  vicious  smile  at  Carrington's  efforts. 

Carrington  landed  some  blows.  But  he  had  lived  lux 
uriously  during  the  later  years  of  his  life;  his  muscles 
had  deteriorated,  and  though  he  was  still  strong,  his 
strength  was  not  to  be  compared  with  that  of  the 
out-of-door  man  whose  clean  and  simple  habits  had 
toughened  his  muscles  until  they  were  equal  to  any  emer 
gency. 

And  so  the  battle  went  slowly  but  surely  against  Car 
rington.  Fighting  desperately,  and  showing  by  the  ex 
pression  of  his  face  that  he  knew  his  chances  were  small, 


THE  RANCHMAN 


he  tried  to  work  at  close  quarters.  He  kept  coming  in 
stubbornly,  blocking  some  blows,  taking  others;  and 
finally  he  succeeded  in  getting  his  arms  around  Taylor. 

The  crowd  had  by  this  time  become  intensely  partisan. 
At  first  it  had  been  silent,  but  now  it  became  clamorous. 
There  were  some  Danforth  men,  and  knowing  Dan  forth 
to  be  aligned  with  Carrington  —  because,  it  seemed  to 
them,  Carrington  was  taking  Danforth's  end  of  the  fight 
—  they  howled  for  the  big  man  to  "  give  it  to  him !  "  And 
they  grew  bitter  when  they  saw  that  despite  Carrington's 
best  efforts,  and  their  own  verbal  support  of  him, 
Carrington  was  doomed  to  defeat. 

Taylor's  admirers  vastly  outnumbered  Carrington's. 
They  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  shout  advice  to  their 
champion;  but  they  shouted  and  roared  with  approval 
as  Taylor,  driving  forward,  the  grin  still  on  his  face, 
striking  heavily  and  blocking  deftly,  kept  his  enemv 
retreating  before  him. 

Carrington,  locking  his  arms  around  Taylor,  hugged 
him  desperately  for  some  seconds  —  until  he  recovered 
his  breath,  and  until  his  head  cleared,  and  he  could  fix 
objects  firmly  in  his  vision;  and  then  he  heaved  mightily, 
swung  Taylor  from  his  feet  and  tried  to  throw  him.  Tay 
lor's  feet  could  get  no  leverage,  but  his  arms  were  still 
free,  and  with  both  of  them  he  hammered  the  big  man's 
head  until  Carrington,  in  insane  rage,  threw  Taylor  from 
him. 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 135 

Taylor  landed  a  little  off  balance,  and  before  he  could 
set  himself,  Carrington  threw  himself  forward.  He 
swung  malignantly,  the  blow  landing  glancingly  on  Tay 
lor's  head,  staggering  him.  His  feet  struck  an  obstruc 
tion  and  he  went  to  one  knee,  Carrington  striking  at  him 
as  he  tried  to  rise. 

The  blow  missed,  Carrington  turning  clear  around 
from  the  force  of  the  blow  and  tumbling  headlong  into 
the  dust  near  Taylor. 

They  clambered  to  their  feet  at  the  same  instant,  and 
in  the  next  they  came  together  with  a  shock  that  made 
them  both  reel  backward.  And  then,  still  grinning,  Tay-- 
lor  stepped  lightly  forward.  Paying  no  attention  to 
Carrington's  blows,  he  shot  in  several  short,  terrific,  dead 
ening  uppercuts  that  landed  fairly  on  the  big  man's  chin. 
Carrington's  hands  dropped  to  his  sides,  his  knees  doubled 
and  he  fell  limply  forward  into  the  dust  of  the  street 
where  he  lay,  huddled  and  unconscious,  while  turmoi 
raged  over  him. 

For  the  Danforth  men  in  the  crowd  had  yielded  to  ra^ 
over  the  defeat  of  their  favorites.    They  had  seen  Da:r 
forth  go  down  under  the  terrific  punishment  meted  cut  ta 
him  by  Taylor ;  they  had  seen  Carrington  suffer  '-&e  same 
fate.    Several  of  them  drove  forward,  mutter ./,;£  profane 
threats. 

Norton,  pale  and  watchful,  fearing  just  rjch  a  con 
tingency,  shoved  forward  to  the  center,  shou'.ing : 


136  THE  RANCHMAN 

"Hold  on,  men!  None  of  that!  It's  a  fair  fight  I 
Keep  off,  there  —  do  you  hear?" 

A  score  of  Taylor  men  surged  forward  to  Norton's 
side;  the  crowd  split,  forming  two  sections  —  one  group 
of  men  massing  near  Norton,  the  other  congregating 
around  a  tall  man  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  their 
faction.  A  number  of  other  men  —  the  cautious  and 
faint-hearted  element  which  had  no  personal  animus  to 
spur  it  to  participation  in  what  seemed  to  threaten  to 
develop  into  a  riot  —  retreated  a  short  distance  up  the 
street  and  stood  watching,  morbidly  curious. 

But  though  violence,  concerted  and  deadly,  was  immi 
nent,  it  was  delayed.  For  Taylor  had  not  yet  finished, 
and  the  crowd  was  curiously  following  his  movements. 

Taylor  was  a  picturesquely  ludicrous  figure.  He  was 
covered  with  dust  from  head  to  foot;  his  face  was 
streaked  with  it ;  his  hair  was  full  of  it ;  it  had  been  ground 
into  his  cheeks,  and  where  blood  from  a  cut  on  his  fore 
head  had  trickled  to  his  right  temple,  the  dust  was  matted 
until  it  resembled  crimson  mud. 

And  yet  the  man  was  still  smiling.  It  was  not  a  smile 
at  which  most  men  care  to  look  when  its  owner's  attention 
is  definitely  centered  upon  them;  it  was  a  smile  full  of 
grimly  humorous  malice  and  determination;  the  smile  of 
the  fighting  man  who  cares  nothing  for  consequences. 

The  concerted  action  which  had  threatened  was,  by  the 
tacit  consent  of  the  prospective  belligerents,  postponed 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 137 

for  the  instant.  The  gaze  of  every  partisan  —  and  of  all 
the  non-partisans  —  was  directed  at  Taylor. 

He  had  not  yet  finished.  For  an  instant  he  stood 
looking  down  at  Carrington  and  Danforth  —  both  now 
beginning  to  recover  from  their  chastisement,  and  sitting 
up  in  the  dust  gazing  dizzily  about  them  —  then  with  a 
chuckle,  grim  and  malicious,  Taylor  dove  toward  the  door 
of  the  courthouse,  where  Littlefield  was  standing. 

The  judge  had  been  stunned  by  the  ferocity  of  the 
action  he  had  witnessed.  Whatever  judicial  dignity  had 
been  his  had  been  whelmed  by  the  paralyzing  fear  that 
had  gripped  him,  and  he  stood,  holding  to  the  door-jambs, 
nerveless,  motionless. 

He  saw  Taylor  start  toward  him ;  he  saw  a  certain  light 
leaping  in  the  man's  eyes,  and  he  cringed  and  cried  out 
in  dread. 

But  he  had  not  the  power  to  retreat  from  the  menace 
that  was  approaching  him.  He  threw  out  his  hands  impo- 
tently  as  Taylor  reached  him,  as  though  to  protest  phys 
ically.  But  Taylor  ignored  the  movement,  reaching 
upward,  a  dusty  finger  and  thumb  closing  on  the  judge's 
right  ear. 

There  was  a  jerk,  a  shrill  cry  of  pain  from  the  judge, 
and  then  he  was  led  into  the  street,  near  where  Carrington 
and  Danforth  had  fallen,  and  twisted  ungently  around 
until  he  faced  the  crowd. 

"  Men,"  said  Taylor,  in  the  silence  that  greeted  him  as 


138  THE  RANCHMAN 

he  stood  erect,  his  finger  and  thumb  still  gripping  the 
judge's  ear,  "  Judge  Littlefield  is  going  to  say  a  few  words 
to  you.  He's  going  to  tell  you  who  started  this  ruckus  — 
so  there  won't  be  any  nonsense  about  actions  in  contempt 
of  court.  Deals  like  this  are  pulled  off  better  when  the 
court  takes  the  public  into  its  confidence.  Who  started 
this  thing,  judge?  Did  I?" 

"No-o,"  was  Littlefield's  hesitating  reply. 

"Who  did  start  it?" 

"Mr.  Carrington." 

"You  saw  him?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"He — er — struck  at  you." 

"And  Danforth?" 

"  He  attacked  you  while  you  were  in  the  street." 

"And  I'm  not  to  blame?" 

"No." 

Taylor  grinned  and  released  the  judge's  ear.  "  That's 
all,  gentlemen,"  he  said;  "court  is  dismissed!" 

The  judge  said  nothing  as  he  walked  toward  the  door 
of  the  courthouse.  Nor  did  Carrington  and  Danforth 
speak  as  they  followed  the  judge.  Both  Carrington  and 
Danforth  seemed  to  have  had  enough  fighting  for  one 
day. 

The  victor  looked  around  at  the  faces  in  the  crowd 
that  were  turned  to  his,  and  his  grin  grew  eloquent. 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 


"  Looks  like  we're  going  to  have  a  mighty  peaceable 
administration,  boys !  "  he  said.  His  grin  included  Nor 
ton,  at  whom  he  deliberately  winked.  Then  he  turned, 
mounted  his  horse  —  which  had  stood  docilely  near  by 
during  the  excitement,  and  which  whinnied  as  he  ap 
proached  it  —  and  rode  down  the  street  to  the  Dawes 
bank,  before  which  he  dismounted.  Then  he  went  to  his 
rooms  on  the  floor  above,  washed  and  changed  his  clothes, 
and  attended  to  the  bruises  on  his  face.  Later,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  he  saw  the  crowd  slowly  dispersing; 
and  still  later  he  opened  the  door  on  Neil  Norton,  who 
came  in,  deep  concern  on  his  face. 

"  You've  started  something,  Squint  After  you  left  I 
went  into  the  Eagle  office.  The  partition  is  thin,  and 
I  could  hear  Carrington  raising  hell  in  there.  You 
look  out ;  he'll  try  to  play  some  dog's  trick  on  you  now ! 
There's  going  to  be  the  devil  to  pay  in  this  man's 
town ! " 

Taylor  laughed.  "  How  long  does  it  take  for  a  sprained 
ankle  to  mend,  Norton?" 

Norton  looked  sharply  at  Taylor's  feet. 

"You  sprain  one  of  yours?"  he  asked. 

"  Lord,  no !  "  denied  Taylor.  "  I  was  just  wondering. 
How  long?"  he  insisted. 

"About  two  weeks.  Say,  Squint,  your  brain  wasn't 
injured  in  that  ruckus,  was  it  ?  "  he  asked  solicitously. 

"  It's  as  good  as  it  ever  was," 


140 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  I  don't  believe  it ! "  declared  Norton.  "  Here  you're 
started  something  serious,  and  you  go  to  rambling  about 
sprained  ankles." 

"  Norton,"  said  Taylor  slowly,  "  a  sprained  ankle  is  a. 
mighty  serious  thing — when  you're  forgotten  which  one 
it  was!" 

"What  in " 

"And,"  resumed  Taylor,  "when  you  don't  know  but 
that  she  took  particular  pains  to  make  a  mental  note  of 
it.  If  I'd  wrap  the  left  one  up,  now,  and  she  knew  it  was 
the  right  one  that  had  been  hurt — or  if  I'd  wrap  up  the 
right  one,  and  she  knew  it  was  the  wrong  one,  why  she'd 
likely " 

"She?"  groaned  Norton,  looking  at  his  friend  with 
bulging  eyes  that  were  haunted  by  a  fear  that  Taylor's 
brain  had  cracked  under  the  strain  of  the  excitement  he 
had  undergone.  He  remembered  now,  that  Taylor  had 
acted  in  a  peculiar  manner  during  the  fight;  that  he  had 
grinned  all  through  it  when  he  should  have  been  in  deadly 
earnest. 

"  Plumb  loco !  "  he  muttered. 

And  then  he  saw  Taylor  grinning  broadly  at  him;  and 
he  was  suddenly  struck  with  the  conviction  that  Taylor 
was  not  insane;  that  he  was  in  possession  of  some  secret 
that  he  was  trying  to  confide  to  his  friend,  and  that  he 
had  begun  obliquely.  Norton  drew  a  deep  breath  of 
relief. 


THE  FACE  OF  A  FIGHTER 141 

"Lord!"  he  sighed,  "you  sure  had  me  going.  And 
you  don't  know  which  ankle  you  sprained?" 

"  I've  clean  forgot.  And  now  she'll  find  out  that  I've 
lied  to  her." 

"She? "  said  Norton  significantly. 

"Marion  Harlan,"  grinned  Taylor. 

Norton  caught  his  breath  with  a  gasp.  "You  mean 
you've  fallen  in  love  with  her?  And  that  you've  made 
her —  Oh,  Lord!  What  a  situation!  Don't  you  know 
her  uncle  and  Carrington  are  in  cahoots  in  this  deal  ?  " 

"  It's  my  recollection  that  I  told  you  about  that  the  day 
I  got  back,"  Taylor  reminded  him.  And  then  Taylor  told 
him  the  story  of  the  bandaged  ankle. 

When  Taylor  concluded,  Norton  lay  back  in  his  chair 
and  regarded  his  friend  blankly. 

"And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  all  the  time  you  were 
righting  Carrington  and  Danforth  you  were  thinking 
about  that  ankle?" 

"  Mostly  all  the  time,"  Taylor  admitted. 

Norton  made  a  gesture  of  impotence.  "  Well,"  he  said, 
"if  a  man  can  keep  his  mind  on  a  girl  while  two  men 
are  trying  to  knock  hell  out  of  him,  he's  sure  got  a  bad 
case.  And  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  you're  going  to  have 
a  lovely  ruckus!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

GLOOM' — AND  PLANS 

I  LAM  PARSONS  sat  all  day  on  the  wide  porch  of 
the  big  house  nursing  his  resentment.  He  was 
hunched  up  in  the  chair,  his  shoulders  were  slouched 
forward,  his  chin  resting  on  the  wings  of  his  high, 
starched  collar,  his  lips  in  a  pout,  his  eyes  sullen  and 
gleaming  with  malevolence. 

Parsons  was  beginning  to  recover  from  his  astonish 
ment  over  the  attack  Carrington  had  made  on  him.  He 
saw  now  that  he  should  have  known  Carrington  was  the 
kind  of  man  he  had  shown  himself  to  be;  for  now  that 
Parsons  reflected,  he  remembered  little  things  that  Car 
rington  had  done  which  should  have  warned  him. 

Carrington  had  never  been  a  real  friend.  Carrington 
had  used  him  —  that  was  it;  Carrington  had  made  him 
think  he  was  an  important  member  of  the  partnership, 
and  he  had  thought  so  himself.  Now  he  understood 
Carrington.  Carrington  was  selfish  and  cruel  —  more, 
Carrington  was  a  beast  and  an  ingrate.  For  it  had  been 
Parsons  who  had  made  it  possible  for  Carrington  to  suc 
ceed —  for  he  had  used  Parsons'  money  all  along — 
having  had  very  little  himself. 

142 


GLOOM  — AND  PLANS  145 

So  Parsons  reflected,  knowing,  however,  that  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  oppose  Carrington.  He  feared  Car- 
rington;  he  had  always  feared  him,  but  now  his  fear  had 
become  terror  —  and  hate.  For  Parsons  could  still  feel 
the  man's  fingers  at  his  throat;  and  as  he  sat  there  on 
the  porch  his  own  fingers  stroked  the  spot,  while  in  his 
heart  flamed  a  great  yearning  for  vengeance. 

Marion  Harlan  had  got  up  this  morning  feeling  rather 
more  interested  in  the  big  house  than  she  had  felt  the 
day  before  —  or  upon  any  day  that  she  had  occupied  it. 
She,  like  Parsons,  had  awakened  with  a  presentiment  of 
impending  pleasure.  But,  unlike  Parsons,  she  found  it 
impossible  to  definitely  select  an  outstanding  incident 
or  memory  upon  which  to  base  her  expectations. 

Her  anticipations  seemed  to  be  broad  and  inclusive  — 
like  a  clear,  unobstructed  sunset,  with  an  effulgent  glow 
that  seemed  to  embrace  the  whole  world,  warming  it, 
bringing  a  great  peace. 

For  upon  this  morning,  suddenly  awakening  to  the 
pure,  white  light  that  shone  into  her  window,  she  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  with  life  that  was 
strange  and  foreign  —  a  thing  that  she  had  never  before 
experienced.  Always  there  had  been  a  shadow  of  the 
past  to  darken  her  vision  of  the  future,  but  this  morning 
that  shadow  seemed  to  have  vanished. 

For  a  long  time  she  could  not  understand,  and  she 


1M THE  RANCHMAN 

snuggled  up  in  bed,  her  brow  thoughtfully  furrowed, 
trying  to  solve  the  mystery.  It  was  not  until  she  got  up 
and  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  mighty  basin 
in  which — like  a  dot  of  brown  in  a  lake  of  emerald  green 
—  clustered  the  buildings  of  the  Arrow  ranch,  that  knowl 
edge  in  an  overwhelming  flood  assailed  her.  Then  a 
crimson  flush  stained  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  glowed  with 
happiness,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  and  stood  rigid  for 
a  long  time. 

She  knew  now.  A  name  sprang  to  her  lips,  and  she 
murmured  it  aloud,  softly:  "Quinton  Taylor." 

Later  she  appeared  to  Martha — a  vision  that  made 
the  negro  woman  gasp  with  amazement. 

"  What  happen  to  you,  honey  ?  You-all  git  good  news  ? 
You  look  light  an'  airy  —  like  you's  goin'  to  fly !  " 

"I've  decided  to  like  this  place  —  after  all,  Martha. 
I  —  I  thought  at  first  that  I  wouldn't,  but  I  have  changed 
my  mind." 

Martha  looked  sharply  at  her,  a  sidelong  glance  that 
had  quite  a  little  subtle  knowledge  in  it. 

"  I  reckon  that  *  Squint '  Taylor  make  a  good  many 
girls  change  their  mind,  honey — he,  he,  he!" 

"Martha!" 

"Doan  you  git  'sturbed,  now,  honey.  Martha  shuah 
knows  the  signs.  I  done  discover  the  signs  a  long  while 
ago  —  when  I  fall  in  love  with  a  worfless  nigger  in  St. 
Louis.  He  shuah  did  captivate  me,  honey.  I  done  try  to 


GLOOM  — AND  PLANS 145 

wiggle  out  of  it  —  but  'tain't  no  use.  Face  the  fac's, 
Martha,  face  the  fac's,  I  tell  myself  —  an'  I  done  it.  Ain't 
no  use  for  to  try  an'  fool  the  fac's,  honey  —  not  one  bit 
of  use!  The  ol'  fac'  he  look  at  you  an'  say :  '  Doan  you 
try  to  wiggle  'way  from  me;  I's  heah,  an'  heah  I's  goin'  to 
stay ! '  That  Squint  man  ain't  no  lady-killer,  honey,  but 
he's  shuah  a  he-man  from  the  groun'  up ! " 

Marion  escaped  Martha  as  quickly  as  she  could;  and 
after  breakfast  began  systematically  to  rearrange  the  fur 
niture  to  suit  her  artistic  ideals. 

Martha  helped,  but  not  again  did  Martha  refer  to 
Quinton  Taylor  —  something  in  Marion's  manner  warned 
her  that  she  could  trespass  too  far  in  that  direction. 

^te 

Some  time  during  the  morning  Marion  saw  Parsons 
ride  up  and  dismount  at  the  stable  door;  and  later  she 
heard  him  cross  the  porch.  She  looked  out  of  one  of  the 
front  windows  and  saw  him  huddled  in  a  big  rocking- 
chair,  and  she  wondered  at  the  depression  that  sat  so 
heavily  upon  him. 

The  girl  did  not  pause  in  her  work  long  enough  to 
partake  of  the  lunch  that  Martha  set  for  her  —  so  inter 
ested  was  she;  and  therefore  she  did  not  know  whether 
or  not  Parsons  came  into  the  house.  But  along  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  wearied  of  her  task,  Marion 
entered  the  kitchen.  From  Martha  she  learned  that 
Parsons  had  not  stirred  from  the  chair  on  the  porch 
{during  the  entire  day. 


146 THE  RANCHMAN 

Concerned,  Marion  went  out  to  him. 

Parsons  did  not  hear  her;  he  was  still  moodily  and 
resentfully  reviewing  the  incident  of  the  morning. 

He  started  when  the  girl  placed  a  gentle  hand  on  one  of 
his  shoulders,  seeming  to  cringe  from  her  touch;  then  he 
looked  up  at  her  suddenly. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded. 

"  Don't  you  feel  well,  Uncle  Elam  ?  "  she  inquired.  Her 
hand  rose  from  his  shoulder  to  his  head,  and  her  fingers 
ran  through  his  hair  with  a  light,  gentle  touch  that  made 
him  shiver  with  repugnance.  There  were  times  when 
Parsons  hated  this  living  image  of  his  brother-in-law  with 
a  fervor  that  seemed  to  sear  his  heart.  Now,  however, 
pity  for  himself  had  rather  dulled  the  edge  of  his  hatred. 
A  calamity  had  befallen  him;  he  was  crushed  under  it; 
and  the  sympathy  of  one  whom  he  hated  was  not  entirely 
undesirable. 

No  sense  of  guilt  assailed  the  man.  He  had  never 
betrayed  his  hate  to  her,  and  he  would  not  do  so  now. 
That  wasn't  his  way.  He  had  always  masked  it  from 
her,  making  her  think  he  felt  an  affection  for  her  which 
was  rather  the  equal  of  that  which  custom  required  a 
man  should  feel  for  a  niece.  Yet  he  had  always  hated 
her. 

"  I'm  not  exactly  well,"  he  muttered.  "  It's  the  damned 
atmosphere,  I  suppose." 

"  Martha  tells  me  that  it  does  affect  some  persons," 


GLOOM  — AND  PLANS 147 

said  the  girl.  "And  lack  of  appetite  seems  to  be  one  of 
the  first  symptoms  —  in  your  case.  For  Martha  tells 
me  you  have  not  eaten." 

The  girl's  soft  voice  irritated  Parsons. 
"Go  away!"  he  ordered  crossly;  "I  want  to  think!" 
It  was  not  the  first  time  the  girl  had  endured  his  moods. 
She  smiled  tolerantly,  and  softly  withdrew,  busying  her 
self  inside  the  house. 

v      

Parsons  did  not  eat  supper ;  he  slunk  off  to  bed  and  lay 
for  hours  in  his  room  brooding  over  the  thing  that  had 
happened  to  him. 

He  got  up  early  the  next  morning,  mounted  his  horse 
and  left  the  house  before  Marion  could  get  a  glimpse 
of  him.  It  was  still  rather  early  when  he  reached  Dawes. 
There,  in  a  saloon,  he  overheard  the  story  of  the  fight 
in  the  street  in  front  of  the  courthouse,  and  with  tingling 
eagerness  and  venomous  satisfaction  he  listened  to  a  man 
telling  another  of  the  terrible  punishment  inflicted  upon 
Carrington  by  Quinton  Taylor. 

Parsons  did  not  go  to  see  Carrington,  for  he  feared 
a  repetition  of  Carrington's  savage  rage,  should  he  per 
mit  the  latter  to  observe  his  satisfaction  over  the  incident 
of  yesterday.  He  knew  he  could  not  face  Carrington  and 
conceal  the  gloating  triumph  that  gripped  him. 

So  he  returned  to  the  big  house.  And  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  day  he  sat  in  the  rocker  on  the  porch,  his  soul 
filled  with  a  vindictive  joy. 


148 THE  RANCHMAN 

He  ate  heartily,  too ;  and  his  manner  indicated  that  he 
had  quite  recovered  from  the  indisposition  that  had  af 
fected  him  the  previous  day.  He  even  smiled  at  Marion 
when  she  told  him  he  was  "looking  better." 

But  his  bitter  yearning  for  vengeance  had  not  been 
satisfied  by  the  knowledge  that  Taylor  had  thrashed 
Carrington.  He  knew,  now  that  Carrington  had  ruth 
lessly  cast  him  aside,  that  he  was  no  longer  to  figure  im 
portantly  in  the  scheme  to  loot  the  town;  he  knew  that 
it  was  Carrington's  intention  to  rob  him  of  every  dollar 
he  had  entrusted  to  the  man.  He  knew,  too,  that  Car 
rington  would  not  hesitate  to  murder  him  should  he  offer 
the  slightest  objection,  or  should  he  make  airy  visible 
resistance  to  Carrington's  plans. 

But  Parsons  was  determined  to  be  revenged  upon  Car 
rington,  and  he  was  convinced  that  he  could  secure  his 
revenge  without  boldly  announcing  his  plans. 

As  for  that,  he  had  no  plans.  But  while  sitting  in  the 
rocker  on  the  porch  during  the  long  afternoon,  the  vin 
dictive  light  in  his  eyes  suddenly  deepened,  and  he  grinned 
evilly. 

That  night  after  supper  he  exerted  himself  to  be  agree 
able  to  Marion.  During  the  interval  between  sunset  and 
darkness  he  walked  with  the  girl  along  the  edge  of  the 
butte  above  the  big  valley  which  held  the  irrigation  dam. 
And  while  standing  in  a  timber  grove  at  the  edge  of  the 
butte,  he  questioned  her  deftly  about  the  news  she  had 


GLOOM  — AND  PLANS 149 

received  of  her  father,  and  she  told  him  of  her  visits  to 
the  Arrow. 

He  had  watched  her  narrowly,  and  he  saw  the  flush 
that  came  into  her  cheeks  each  time  Taylor  was  mentioned. 

"He  is  a  remarkably  forceful  man,"  he  observed 
once,  when  he  mentioned  Taylor.  "And  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  Carrington  is  going  to  have  his  hands  full 
with  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you  mean  that  Mr.  Taylor 
is  not  in  sympathy  with  Carrington's  plans  concerning 
Dawes?" 

"I  mean  just  that.  And  if  you  had  happened  to  be  in 
Dawes  yesterday  you  might  have  witnessed  a  demonstra 
tion  of  Taylor's  lack  of  sympathy  with  Carrington's  plans. 
For"  —  and  now  Parsons'  eyes  gleamed  maliciously  — 
"  after  Judge  Littlefield,  acting  under  instructions  from 
the  governor,  had  refused  to  administer  the  oath  of 
office  to  Taylor  —  inducting  his  rival,  Dan  forth,  into  the 
position  instead " 

Here  the  girl  interrupted,  and  Parsons  was  forced  to 
relate  the  tale  in  its  entirety. 

"Uncle  Elam,"  she  said  when  Parsons  paused,  "are 
you  certain  that  Carrington's  intentions  toward  Dawes 
are  honorable?" 

Parsons  smiled  crookedly  behind  a  palm,  and  then 
uncertainly  at  the  girl. 

"  I  don't  know,  Marion.     Carrington  is  a  rather  hard 


150 THE  RANCHMAN 

man  to  gauge.  He  has  always  been  mighty  uncommu 
nicative  and  headstrong.  He  is  getting  ruthless  and  dom 
ineering,  too.  I  am  rather  afraid  —  that  is,  my  dear,  I 
am  beginning  to  believe  we  made  a  mistake  in  Carrington. 
He  doesn't  seem  to  be  the  sort  of  man  we  thought  him 

to  be.    If  he  were  like  that  man  Taylor,  now '     He 

paused  and  glanced  covertly  at  the  girl,  noting  the  glow 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  "  Taylor  is  a  man.  My  dear,"  he 
added  confidentially,  "there  is  going  to  be  trouble  in 
Dawes  —  I  am  convinced  of  that;  trouble  between  Car 
rington  and  Taylor.  Taylor  thrashed  Carrington  yester 
day,  but  Carrington  isn't  the  kind  to  give  up.  I  have 
withdrawn  from  active  participation  in  the  affairs  that 
brought  me  here.  I  am  not  going  to  take  sides.  I  don't 
care  who  wins.  That  may  sound  disloyal  to  you  —  but 
look  here ! "  He  showed  her  several  black  and  blue  marks 
on  his  throat.  "Carrington  did  that  —  the  day  before 
yesterday.  Choked  me."  His  voice  quavered  with  self- 
pity,  whereat  the  girl  caught  her  breath  in  quick  sympathy 
and  bent  to  examine  the  marks.  When  she  stood  erect 
again  Parsons  saw  her  eyes  flashing  with  indignation,  and 
he  knew  that  whatever  respect  the  girl  had  had  for  Car 
rington  had  been  forever  destroyed. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  "why  did  he  choke  you?" 
"  Because  I  frankly  told  him  I  did  not  approve  of  his 
methods,"    lied    Parsons,    smirking    virtuously.      "He 


GLOOM  — AND  PLANS 151 

showed  his  hand,  unmistakably,  and  his  methods  mean 
evil  to  Dawes." 

The  girl  stiffened.  "  I  shall  go  directly  to  Dawes  and 
tell  Carrington  what  I  think  of  him!"  she  declared. 

"No  —  for  God's  sake!"  protested  Parsons.  "He 
would  kill  me!  He  would  know,  instantly,  that  I  had 
been  talking.  My  life  would  not  be  worth  a  snap  of  your 
fingers !  Don't  let  on  that  I  have  said  anything  to  you ! 
Let  him  come  here,  and  treat  him  as  you  have  always 
treated  him.  But  warn  Taylor.  Taylor  may  know 
something — it  is  certain  he  suspects  something — but 
Taylor  will  not  know  everything.  Make  a  friend  of 
Taylor,  my  dear.  Go  to  him  —  visit  his  ranch  —  as  much 
as  you  like.  But  if  Carrington  says  anything  to  you  about 
going  there,  tell  him  I  opposed  it.  That  will  mislead  him." 

When  Parsons  and  the  girl  reached  the  house,  Parsons 
stood  near  the  kitchen  door  and  watched  her  enter.  He 
did  not  go  in,  himself;  he  walked  around  to  the  front  and 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  grinning  maliciously.  For 
he  knew  something  of  the  tortures  of  jealousy,  and  he 
was  convinced  that  he  had  added  something  to  the  antag 
onism  that  already  had  been  the  cause  of  one  clash  be 
tween  Carrington  and  Taylor.  And  Parsons  was  con 
vinced  that  both  he  and  Carrington  had  made  a  mistake 
in  planning  to  loot  Dawes;  that  despite  the  connivance 
of  the  governor  and  Judge  Littlefield,  Quinton  Taylor 
would  defeat  them. 


152 THE  RANCHMAN 

Parsons  might  lose  his  money;  but  the  point  was  that 
Carrington  would  also  lose.  And  if  Parsons  was  wise 
and  cautious  —  and  did  not  antagonize  Taylor  —  there 
was  a  chance  that  he  might  gain  more  through  his  friend 
ship —  a  professed  friendship  —  for  Taylor,  than  he 
would  have  won  had  he  been  loyal  to  Carrington.  At  the 
least,  he  would  have  the  satisfaction  of  wrorking  against 
Carrington  in  the  dark.  And  to  a  man  of  Parsons'  char 
acter  that  was  a  satisfaction  not  to  be  lightly  considered. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE 

the  days  that  Parsons  had  passed  nursing- 
his  resentment,  Carrington  had  been  busy.  Despite 
the  bruises  that  marked  his  face  (which,  by  the  way,  a 
clever  barber  had  disguised  until  they  were  hardly  visible) 
Carrington  appeared  in  public  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

The  fight  at  the  courthouse  had  aroused  the  big  man 
to  the  point  of  volcanic  action.  The  lust  for  power  that 
had  seized  him;  the  implacable  resolution  to  rule,  to 
win,  to  have  his  own  way  in  all  things;  his  passionate 
hatred  of  Taylor;  his  determination  to  destroy  anyone 
who  got  in  his  path  —  these  were  the  forces  that  drove 
him. 

Taylor  had  brought  matters  to  a  sudden  and  unexpected 
crisis.  Carrington  had  planned  to  begin  his  campaign 
differently,  to  insinuate  himself  into  the  political  life  of 
Dawes;  and  he  had  gone  to  the  courthouse  intending  to 
keep  in  the  background,  but  Taylor  had  forced  him  into 
the  open. 

Therefore,  Carrington  had  no  choice,  and  he  instantly; 
accepted  Taylor's  challenge.  After  reentering  the  court- 

153 


154 THE  RANCHMAN 

house,  following  the  departure  of  Taylor,  Carrington 
had  insisted  that  Judge  Littlefield  have  Taylor  taken  into 
custody  on  a  contempt  of  court  charge.  Littlefield  had 
flatly  refused,  and  the  resulting  argument  had  been  what 
Neil  Norton  had  overheard.  But  Littlefield  had  not 
yielded  to  Carrington's  insistence. 

"  That  would  be  ridiculous,  after  what  has  happened," 
the  judge  declared.  "  The  whole  country  would  be  laugh 
ing  at  us.  More,  you  can  see  that  public  sentiment  is 
with  Taylor.  And  he  forced  me  to  publicly  admit  that 
you  were  to  blame.  I  simply  won't  do  it !  " 

"All  right,"  grinned  Carrington,  darkly;  "I'll  find  an 
other  way  to  get  him !  " 

And  so  for  the  instant  Carrington  dismissed  Taylor 
Jtom  his  thoughts,  devoting  his  attention  to  the  task  of 
organizing  his  forces  for  the  campaign  he  was  to  make 
against  the  town. 

He  held  many  conferences  with  Danforth  and  with 
three  of  five  men  who  had  been  elected  to  the  new  city 
council  —  that  political  body  having  also  been  provided 
under  the  new  charter.  Three  of  the  members  —  Cart- 
wright,  Ellis,  and  Warden  —  were  Danforth  men,  cogs 
of  that  secret  machine  which  for  more  than  a  year  Dan 
forth  had  been  perfecting  at  Carrington's  orders. 

Some  officials  were  appointed  by  Mayor  Danforth  —  at 
Carrington's  direction;  a  chief  of  police,  a  municipal 
judge,  a  town  clerk,  a  treasurer  —  and  a  host  of  other 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE  155 

office-holders  inevitable  to  a  system  of  government  which 
permits  the  practice. 

Carrington  dominated  every  conference;  he  made  it- 
plain  that  he  was  to  rule  Dawes  —  that  Danforth  and  all 
the  others  were  subject  to  his  orders. 

Only  one  day  was  required  to  perfect  Carrington's 
organization,  and  on  Thursday  evening,  with  everything 
running  smoothly,  Carrington  appeared  in  the  palm- 
decorated  foyer  of  the  Castle,  a  smugly  complacent  smile 
on  his  face.  For  he  had  won  the  first  battle  in  the  war 
he  was  to  wage.  To  be  sure,  he  had  been  worsted  in  r 
physical  encounter  with  Taylor,  as  the  bruises  still  on 
his  face  indicated,  but  he  intended  to  repay  Taylor  for 
that  thrashing  —  and  his  lips  went  into  an  ugly  pout  when 
his  thoughts  dwelt  upon  the  man. 

He  had  almost  forgotten  Parsons;  he  did  not  think 
of  the  other  until  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when, 
with  Danforth  in  the  barroom  of  the  Castle,  Danforth 
mentioned  his  name.  Then  Carrington  remembered  that 
he  had  not  seen  Parsons  since  he  had  throttled  the  man. 
He  ordered  another  drink,  not  permitting  Danforth  to 
see  his  eyes,  which  were  glowing  with  a  flame  that  would 
have  betrayed  him. 

;'  This  is  good-night,"  he  said  to  Danforth  as  he  raised 
his  glass.  "  I've  got  to  see  Parsons  tonight." 

Yet  it  was  not  Parsons  who  was  uppermost  in  his  mind 
when  he  left  the  Castle,  mounted  on  his  horse;  the  face 


156  THE  RANCHMAN 

of  Marion  Harlan  was  in  the  mental  picture  he  drew 
as  he  rode  toward  the  Huggins  house,  and  there  ran  in  hi* 
brain  a  reckless  thought  —  which  had  been  uttered  to  Par 
sons  at  the  instant  before  his  fingers  had  closed  around 
the  latter's  throat  a  few  days  before : 

"  I  was  born  a  thousand  years  too  late,  Parsons !  I  am 
a  robber  baron  brought  down  to  date  —  modernized.  I 
believe  that  in  me  flows  the  blood  of  a  pirate,  a  savage,  or 
an  ancient  king.  I  have  all  the  instincts  of  a  tribal  chief 
whose  principles  are  to  rule  or  ruin !  I'll  have  no  law 
out  here  but  my  own  desires !  " 

And  tonight  Carrington's  desires  were  for  the  girl  wh» 
had  accompanied  him  to  Dawes ;  the  girl  who  had  stirred 
his  passions  as  no  woman  had  ever  stirred  them,  and  who 
• — now  that  he  had  seized  the  town's  government  —  was 
to  be  as  much  his  vassal  as  Parsons,  Danforth  —  or 
any  of  them.  lie  grinned  as  he  rode  toward  the  Huggins 
house  —  a  grin  that  grew  to  a  laugh  as  he  rode  up  the 
drive  toward  the  house;  low,  vibrant,  hideous  with  its 
threat  of  unrestrained  passion. 

The  night  had  been  too  beautiful  for  Marion  Harlan 
to  remain  indoors,  and  so,  after  darkness  had  swathed 
the  big  valley  back  of  the  house,  she  had  slipped  out, 
noting  that  her  uncle  had  gone  again  to  the  chair  on  the 
front  porch.  She  had  walked  with  Parsons  along  the 
butte  above  the  valley,  but  she  wanted  to  be  alone  now,  to 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE  157 

view  the  beauties  without  danger  of  interruption.  Above 
all,  she  wanted  to  think. 

For  the  news  that  Parsons  had  communicated  to  her 
had  affected  her  strangely;  she  felt  that  her  uncle's  rev 
elations  of  Carrington's  character  amounted  to  a  vindi 
cation  of  her  own  secret  opinion  of  the  man. 

He  had  been  a  volcanic  wooer,  and  she  had  distrusted 
him  all  along.  She  had  never  permitted  that  distrust  to 
appear  on  the  surface,  however,  out  of  respect  for  her 
uncle  —  for  she  had  always  thought  he  and  Carrington 
were  firm  friends.  She  saw  now,  though,  that  she  had 
always  suspected  Carrington  of  being  just  what  her 
uncle's  revelation  had  proved  him  to  be  —  a  ruthless, 
selfish,  domineering  brute  of  a  man,  who  would  have  no 
mercy  upon  any  person  who  got  in  his  way. 

Reflecting  upon  his  actions  during  the  days  she  had 
known  him  in  Westwood  —  and  upon  his  glances  when 
sometimes  she  had  caught  him  looking  at  her,  and  at  other 
times  when  his  gaze  —  bold,  and  flaming  with  naked 
passion  —  had  been  fixed  upon  her,  she  shuddered, 
comparing  him  with  Quinton  Taylor,  quiet,  polite,  and 
considerate. 

Loyally,  she  hated  Carrington  now  for  the  things  he 
had  done  to  Parsons.  She  mentally  vowed  that  the  next 
time  she  saw  Carrington  she  would  tell  him  exactly  what 
she  thought  of  him,  regardless  of  the  effect  her  frank 
opinion  might  have  on  her  uncle's  fortunes. 


158 THE  RANCHMAN 

But  still  she  had  not  come  to  the  edge  of  the  butte  for 
the  purpose  of  devoting  her  entire  thoughts  to  Carring- 
ton;  there  was  another  face  that  obtruded  insistently  in 
the  mental  pictures  she  drew  —  Quinton  Taylor's.  And 
she  found  a  grass  knoll  at  the  edge  of  the  butte,  twisted 
around  so  that  she  could  look  over  the  edge  of  the  butte 
and  into  the  big  basin  that  slumbered  somberly  in  the 
mysterious  darkness,  staring  intently  until  she  discovered 
a  pin-point  of  light  gleaming  out  of  it.  That  light,  she 
knew,  came  from  one  of  the  windows  of  the  Arrow  ranch- 
house,  and  she  watched  it  long,  wondering  what  Taylor 
would  be  doing  about  now. 

For  she  was  keeping  no  secrets  from  herself  tonight. 
She  knew  that  she  liked  Taylor  better  than  she  had  ever 
1ked  any  man  of  her  acquaintance. 

At  first  she  had  told  herself  that  her  liking  for  the  man 
had  been  aroused  merely  because  he  had  been  good  to  her 
father.  But  she  knew  now  that  she  liked  Taylor  for  him 
self.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  nameless  longing  that 
had  taken  possession  of  her;  the  insistent  and  yearning 
desire  to  be  near  him;  the  regret  that  had  affected  her 
when  she  had  left  the  Arrow  at  the  end  of  her  last  visit. 
Taylor  would  never  know  how  near  she  had  come  to  ac 
cepting  his  invitation  to  share  the  Arrow  with  him.  Had 
it  not  been  for  propriety  —  the  same  propriety  which  had 
inseparably  linked  itself  with  all  her  actions  —  which  she 
must  observe  punctiliously  despite  the  fact  that  girls  of 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE  159 

her  acquaintance  had  violated  it  openly  without  hurt  or 
damage  to  their  reputations ;  had  it  not  been  that  she  must 
bend  to  its  mandates,  because  of  the  shadow  that  had 
always  lurked  near  her,  she  would  have  gone  to  live  at 
the  Arrow. 

For  she  knew  that  she  could  have  stayed  at  the  Arrow 
without  danger.  Taylor  was  a  gentleman  —  she  knew  — 
and  Taylor  would  never  offend  her  in  the  manner  the 
world  affected  to  dread  —  and  suspect.  But  she  could  not 
do  the  things  other  girls  could  do  —  that  was  why  she 
had  refused  Taylor's  invitation. 

She  had  thought  she  had  conquered  her  aversion  for 
the  big  house  —  the  aversion  that  had  been  aroused  be 
cause  of  the  story  Martha  had  told  her  regarding  its  for 
mer  inhabitants,  but  that  aversion  recurred  to  her  wit\» 
disquieting  insistence  as  she  sat  there  on  the  edge  of  the 
butte. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  serpent  of  immorality  which 
had  dragged  its  trail  across  hers  so  many  times  was  never 
to  leave  her,  and  she  found  herself  wondering  about  the 
house  and  about  Carrington  and  her  uncle. 

Carrington  had  bought  the  horse  for  her  —  Billy;  and 
she  had  accepted  it  after  some  consideration.  But 
what  if  Carrington  had  bought  the  house?  That  would 
mean —  Why,  the  people  of  Dawes,  if  they  discovered 
it  —  if  Carrington  had  bought  it  —  might  place  their  own 
interpretation  upon  the  fact  that  she  was  living  in  it. 


160  THE  RANCHMAN 

And  the  interpretation  of  the  people  of  Dawes  would  be 
no  more  charitable  than  that  of  the  people  of  Westwood! 
They  would  think 

She  got  up  quickly,  her  face  pale,  and  started  toward 
the  house,  determined  to  ask  her  uncle. 

Waftcing  swiftly  toward  the  front  porch,  where  she 
had  seen  Parsons  go,  she  remembered  that  Parsons  had 
told  her  he  had  arranged  for  the  house,  but  that  might 
not  mean  that  he  had  personally  bought  it. 

She  meant  to  find  out,  and  if  Carrington  owned  the 
house,  she  would  not  stay  in  it  another  night  —  not  even 
tonight. 

She  was  walking  fast  when  she  reached  the  edge  of  the 
porch  —  almost  running ;  and  when  she  got  to  the  nearest 
corner,  she  saw  that  the  porch  was  quite  vacant ;  Parsons 
must  have  gone  in. 

She  stood  for  an  instant  at  the  porch-edge,  a  beam  of 
silvery  moonlight  streaming  upon  her  through  a  break  in 
the  trees  overhead,  convinced  that  Parsons  had  gone  to 
bed;  and  convinced,  likewise,  that,  were  she  to  disturb 
him  now  to  ask  the  question  that  was  in  her  mind,  he 
would  laugh  at  her. 

She  decided  she  would  wait  until  the  morning,  and 
she  was  about  to  return  to  the  edge  of  the  butte,  when 
she  realized  that  it  had  grown  rather  late.  She  had  not 
noticed  how  quickly  the  time  had  fled. 

She  turned,  intending  to  enter  the  house  from  one  of 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE 161 

the  rear  doors  through  which  she  had  emerged,  when  a 
sound  reached  her  ears  —  the  rapid  drumming  of  a  horse's 
hoofs.  She  wheeled,  facing  the  direction  from  which 
the  sound  came  —  and  saw  Carrington  riding  toward  her, 
not  more  than  fifty  feet  distant. 

He  saw  her  at  the  instant  her  gaze  rested  on  him — an 
instant  before,  she  surmised,  for  there  was  a  huge  grin 
on  his  face  as  she  turned  to  him. 

He  was  at  her  side  before  she  could  obey  a  sudden  im 
pulse  to  run  —  for  she  did  not  wish  to  talk  to  him  tonight 
—  and  in  another  instant  he  had  dismounted  and  was 
standing  close  to  her. 

"All  alone,  eh?"  he  laughed.  "And  enjoying  the 
moon  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  made  a  ravishing  picture, 
standing  there  with  the  light  shining  on  you  ?  I  saw  you 
as  you  started  to  turn,  and  I  shall  remember  the  picture 
all  my  life!  [You  are  more  beautiful  than  ever,  girl!" 

Carrington  was  breathing  fast.  The  girl  thought  he 
had  been  riding  hard.  But,  despite  that  explanation  for 
the  repressed  excitement  under  which  he  seemed  to  be 
laboring,  the  girl  thought  she  detected  the  presence  of  re 
strained  passion  in  his  eyes,  and  she  shrank  back  a  little. 

She  had  often  seen  passion  in  his  eyes,  identical  with 
what  glowed  in  them  now,  but  she  had  always  felt  a  cer 
tain  immunity,  a  masterfulness  over  him  that  had  per 
mitted  her  to  feel  that  she  could  repulse  him  at  will. 
£Jow,  however,  she  felt  a  sudden,  cringing  dread  of  him. 


162  THE  RANCHMAN 

The  dread,  no  doubt,  was  provoked  by  her  uncle's  reve 
lation  of  the  man's  character ;  and,  for  the  first  time  during 
her  acquaintance  with  Carrington,  she  felt  a  fear  of  him, 
and  became  aware  of  the  overpowering  force  and  virility 
of  the  man. 

Her  voice  was  a  little  tremulous  when  she  answered: 

"  I  was  looking  for  Uncle  Elam.  He  must  have 
gone  in." 

His  face  was  not  very  distinct  to  her,  for  he  was  stand 
ing  in  a  shadow  cast  by  a  near-by  tree,  and  she  could  not 
see  the  bruises  that  marred  the  flesh,  but  it  seemed  to  her 
that  his  face  had  never  seemed  so  repulsive.  And  the 
significance  of  his  grin  made  her  gasp. 

"  That's  good.  I'm  glad  he  did  go  in ;  I  did  not  come 
to  see  Parsons." 

She  had  meant  to  take  him  to  task  for  what  he  had 
done  to  her  uncle,  but  there  was  something  in  his  voice 
that  made  thoughts  of  defending  Parsons  seem  futile  — 
a  need  gone  in  the  necessity  to  conserve  her  voice  and 
strength  for  an  imminent  crisis. 

For  Carrington's  voice,  thick  and  vibrant,  smote  her 
with  a  presentiment  of  danger  to  herself.  She  looked 
sharply  at  him,  saw  that  his  face  was  red  and  bloated 
with  passion  and,  taking  a  backward  step,  she  said  shortly : 

"I  must  go  in.    I  —  I  promised  Martha " 

His  voice  interrupted  her;  she  felt  one  of  his  hands  on 
her  arm,  the  fingers  gripping  it  tightly. 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE  163 

"No,  you  don't,"  he  said,  hoarsely;  "I  came  here  to 
have  a  talk  with  you,  and  I  mean  to  have  it ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked.  She  was  rigid  and 
erect,  but  she  could  not  keep  the  quaver  out  of  her  voice. 

"Playing  the  innocent,  eh?"  he  mocked,  his  voice  dry 
and  light.  "  You've  played  innocent  ever  since  I  saw  you 
the  first  time.  It  doesn't  go  anymore.  You're  going  to 
face  the  music."  He  thrust  his  face  close  to  hers  and 
the  expression  of  his  eyes  thrilled  her  with  horror. 

"What  do  you  suppose  I  brought  you  here  for?"  he 
demanded.  "  I'll  tell  you.  I  bought  the  house  for  you. 
Parsons  knows  why  —  Dawes  knows  why  —  everybody 
kno'vrs.  You  ought  to  know  —  you  shall  know."  He 
laughed,  sneeringly.  "Westwood  could  tell  you,  or  the 
woman  who  lived  in  the  Huggins  house  before  you  came. 
Martha  could  tell  you  —  she  lived  here " 

He  heard  her  draw  her  breath  sharply  and  he  mocked 
her,  gloating: 

"Ah,  Martha  has  told  you!  Well,  you've  got  to  face 
the  music,  I  tell  you !  I've  got  things  going  my  way  here 
—  the  way  I've  wanted  things  to  go  since  I've  been  old 
enough  to  realize  what  life  is.  I've  got  the  governor,  the 
mayor,  the  judges  —  everything  —  with  me,  and  I'm 
going  to  rule.  I'm  going  to  rule,  my  way!  If  you  are 
sensible,  you'll  have  things  pretty  easy;  but  if  you're 
going  to  try  to  balk  me  you're  going  to  pay  —  plenty!" 

Ske  did  not  answer,  standing  rigid  in  his  grasp,  her 


164 THE  RANCHMAN 

face  chalk-white.  He  did  not  notice  her  pallor,  nor  how 
she  stood,  paralyzed  with  dread;  and  he  thought  because 
of  her  silence  that  she  was  going  to  passively  submit. 
He  thought  victory  was  near,  and  he  was  going  to  be 
magnanimous  in  his  moment  of  triumph. 

His  grip  on  her  arm  relaxed  and  he  leaned  forward 
to  whisper: 

"That's  the  girl.  No  fuss,  no  heroics.  We'll  get 
along;  we'll " 

Her  right  hand  struck  his  face  —  a  full  sweep  of  the 
arm  behind  it  —  burning,  stinging,  sending  him  stagger 
ing  back  a  little  from  its  very  unexpectedness.  And 
before  he  could  make  a  move  to  recover  his  equilibrium 
she  had  gone  like  a  flash  of  light,  as  elusive  as  the  moon 
beam  in  which  she  had  stood  when  he  had  first  come 
upon  her. 

He  cursed  gutturally  and  leaped  forward,  running  with 
great  leaps  toward  the  rear  of  the  house,  where  he  had 
seen  her  vanish.  He  reached  the  door  through  which  she 
had  gone,  finding  it  closed  and  locked  against  him.  Step 
ping  back  a  little,  he  hurled  himself  against  the  door, 
sending  it  crashing  from  its  hinges,  so  that  he  tumbled 
headlong  into  the  room  and  sprawled  upon  the  floor.  He 
was  up  in  an  instant,  tossing  the  wreck  of  the  door  from 
him,  breathing  heavily,  cursing  frightfully;  for  he  had 
completely  lost  his  senses  and  was  in  the  grip  of  an  insane 
rage  over  the  knowledge  that  she  had  tricked  him. 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE 165 

Parsons  heard  the  crash  as  the  door  went  from  its 
hinges.  He  got  out  of  bed  in  a  tremor  of  fear  and  opened 
the  door  of  his  room,  peering  into  the  big  room  that  ad 
joined  the  dining-room.  From  the  direction  of  the 
kitchen  he  caught  a  thin  shaft  of  light  —  from  the  kero 
sene-lamp  that  Martha  had  placed  on  a  table  for  Marion's 
convenience.  A  big  form  blotted  out  the  light,  casting  a 
kuge,  gigantic  shadow;  and  Parsons  saw  the  shadow  on 
the  ceiling  of  the  room  into  which  he  looked. 

Huge  as  the  shadow  was,  Parsons  had  no  difficulty  in 
recognizing  it  as  belonging  to  Carrington ;  and  with  chat 
tering  teeth  Parsons  quickly  closed  his  door,  locked  it, 
and  stood  against  it,  his  knees  knocking  together. 

Martha,  too,  had  heard  the  crash.  She  bounded  out  of 
bed  and  ran  to  the  door  of  her  room,  swinging  it  wide, 
for  instinct  told  her  something  had  happened  to  Marion. 
Her  room  was  closer  to  the  kitchen,  and  she  saw  Carring 
ton  plainly,  as  he  was  rising  from  the  debris.  And  she 
was  just  in  time  to  see  Marion  slipping  through  the  door 
way  of  her  own  room.  And  by  the  time  Carrington  got 
to  his  feet,  Martha  had  heard  Marion's  door  click  shut, 
heard  the  lock  snap  home. 

Martha  instantly  closed  the  door  of  her  own  room, 
fastened  it  and  ran  to  another  door  that  connected  her 
room  with  Marion's.  She  swung  that  door  open  and 
looked  into  the  girl's  room;  heard  the  girl  stifle  a  shriek 
• —  for  the  girl  thought  Carrington  was  coming  upon  her 


166     THE  RANCHMAN 

from  that  direction — and  then  Martha  was  at  the  girl's 
side,  whispering  to  her — excitedly  comforting  her. 

"The  damn  trash  —  houndin'  you  this  way!  He  am' 
goin'  to  hurt  you,  honey  —  not  one  bit!" 

Outside  the  door  they  could  hear  Carrington  walking 
about  in  the  room.  There  came  to  the  ears  of  the  two 
women  the  scratch  of  a  match,  and  then  a  steady  glimmer 
of  light  streaked  into  the  room  from  the  bottom  of  the 
door,  and  they  knew  Carrington  had  lighted  a  lamp.  A! 
little  later,  while  Martha  stood,  her  arms  around  the  girl, 
who  leaned  against  the  negro  woman,  very  white  and 
still,  they  heard  Carrington  talking  with  Parsons.  They 
heard  Parsons  protesting,  Carrington  cursing  him. 

"  He  ain'  goin'  to  git  you,  honey,"  whispered  Martha. 
"  That  man  come  heah  the  firs'  day,  an'  I  knowed  he's  a 
rapscallion."  She  pointed  upward,  to  where  a  trap-door, 
partly  open,  appeared  in  the  ceiling  of  the  room. 

"There's  the  attic,  honey.  I'll  boost  you,  an'  you  go 
up  there  an'  hide  from  that  wild  man.  You  got  to,  for 
that  worfless  Parsons  am  tellin'  him  which  room  you's  in. 
You  hurry  —  you  heah  me!" 

She  helped  the  girl  upward,  and  stood  listening  until 
the  trap-door  grated  shut.  Then  she  turned  and  grinned 
at  the  door  that  led  into  the  big  room  adjoining  the 
kitchen.  Carrington  was  at  it,  his  shoulder  against  it; 
Martha  could  hear  him  cursing. 

"Open  up,  here!"  came  Carrington's  voice  through 


167 


the  door,  muffled,  but  resonant.  "  Open  the  door,  damn 
you,  or  I'll  tear  it  down !  " 

"Tear  away,  white  man!"  giggled  Martha  softly. 
"  They's  a  big  'sprise  waitin'  you  when  you  git  in  heah ! " 

For  an  instant  following  Carrington's  curses  and  de 
mands  there  was  a  silence.  It  was  broken  by  a  splintering 
crash,  and  the  negro  woman  saw  the  door  split  so  that 
the  light  from  the  other  room  streaked  through  it.  But 
the  door  held,  momentarily.  Then  Carrington  again 
lunged  against  it  and  it  burst  open,  pieces  of  the  lock 
flying  across  the  room. 

This  time  Carrington  did  not  fall  with  the  door,  but 
reeled  through  the  opening,  erect,  big,  a  vibrant,  mirthless 
laugh  on  his  lips. 

The  light  from  the  other  room  streamed  in  past  him, 
shining  full  upon  Martha,  who  stood,  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  looking  at  the  man. 

Carrington  was  disconcerted  by  the  presence  of  Martha 
when  he  had  expected  to  see  Marion.  He  stepped  back, 
cursing. 

Martha  giggled  softly. 

"What  you  doin'  in  my  room,  man;  just  when  I'se 
goin'  to  retiah?  You  git  out  o'  heah  —  quick!  Yo'  heah 
me  ?  Yo'  ain't  got  no  business  bustin'  my  door  down ! " 

"Bah!"  Carrington's  voice  was  malignant  with  baf 
fled  rage.  With  one  step  he  was  at  Martha's  side,  his 
hands  on  her  throat,  his  muscles  rigid  and  straining. 


168 THE  RANCHMAN 

"Where's  Marion  Harlan?"  he  demanded.  "Tell  me, 
you  black  devil,  or  I'll  choke  hell  out  of  you!" 

Martha  was  not  frightened;  she  giggled  mockingly. 

"That  girl  bust  in  heah  a  minute  ago;  then  she  bust 
out  ag'in,  runnin'  fit  to  kill  herself.  I  reckon  by  this  time 
she's  done  throw  herself  off  the  butte  —  rather  than  have 
you  git  her!" 

Carrington  shoved  Martha  from  him,  so  that  she  stag 
gered  and  fell;  and  with  a  bound  he  was  through  the 
door  that  led  into  Martha's  room. 

The  negro  woman  did  not  move.  She  sat  on  the  floor, 
a  malicious  grin  on  her  face,  listening  to  Carrington  as  he 
raged  through  the  house. 

Once,  about  five  minutes  after  he  left,  Carrington  re 
turned  and  stuck  his  head  into  the  room.  Martha  still 
sat  where  Carrington  had  thrown  her.  She  did  not  care 
what  Carrington  did  to  the  house,  so  long  as  he  was 
ignorant  of  the  existence  of  the  trap-door. 

And  Carrington  did  not  notice  the  door.  For  an  hour 
Martha  heard  him  raging  around  the  house,  opening  and 
slamming  doors  and  overturning  furniture.  Once  when 
she  did  not  hear  him  for  several  minutes,  she  got  up  and 
went  to  one  of  the  windows.  She  saw  him,  out  at  the 
stable,  looking  in  at  the  horses. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  house,  and  Martha  resumed 
her  place  on  the  floor.  Later,  she  heard  Carrington  enter 
the  house  again,  and  after  that  she  heard  Parsons'  vpice, 


'A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE 169 

raised  in  high-terrored  protest.  Then  there  was  another 
silence.  Again  Martha  looked  out  of  a  window.  This 
time  she  saw  Carrington  on  his  horse,  riding  away. 

But  for  half  an  hour  Martha  remained  at  the  window. 
She  feared  Carrington's  departure  was  a  subterfuge,  and 
she  was  not  mistaken.  For  a  little  later  Carrington  re 
turned,  riding  swiftly.  He  slid  from  his  horse  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  house  and  ran  toward  it.  Martha  was 
in  the  kitchen  when  he  came  in.  He  did  not  speak  to  her 
as  he  came  into  the  room,  but  passed  her  and  again  made 
a  search  of  the  house.  Passing  Martha  again  he  gave 
her  a  malevolent  look,  then  halted  at  the  outside  door. 

The  man's  wild  rage  seemed  to  have  left  him;  he  was 
calm  —  polite,  even. 

"  Tell  your  mistress  I  am  sorry  for  what  has  occurred. 
I  am  afraid  I  was  a  bit  excited.  I  shall  not  harm  her ;  I 
won't  bother  her  again." 

He  stepped  through  the  doorway  and,  going  again  to  a 
window  and  drawing  back  the  curtain  slightly,  Martha 
watched  him. 

Carrington  went  to  the  stable,  entered,  and  emerged 
again  presently,  leading  two  horses  —  Parsons'  horse  and 
Billy.  He  led  the  animals  to  where  his  own  horse  stood, 
climbed  into  the  saddle  and  rode  away,  the  two  horses 
following.  At  the  edge  of  the  wood  he  turned  and  looked 
back.  Then  the  darkness  swallowed  him. 

For  another  half-hour  Martha  watched  the  Dawes  trail 


170 THE  RANCHMAN 

from  a  window.  Then  she  drew  a  deep  breath  and  went 
into  Marion's  room,  standing  under  the  trap-door. 

"I  reckon  you  kin  come  down  now,  honey  —  he's 
gone." 

A  little  later,  with  Marion  standing  near  her  in  the 
room,  the  light  from  the  kerosene-lamp  streaming  upon 
them  through  the  shattered  door,  Martha  was  speaking 
rapidly : 

"He  acted  mighty  suspicious,  honey;  an'  he's  up  to 
some  dog's  trick,  shuah  as  you'm  alive.  You  got  to  git 
out  of  heah,  honey  —  mighty  quick!  'Pears  he  thinks 
you  is  hid  somewhares  around  heah,  an'  he's  figgerin'  on 
makin'  you  stay  heah.  An'  if  you  wants  to  git  away, 
you's  got  to  walk,  for  he's  took  the  hosses ! "  She  shook 
her  head,  her  eyes  wide  with  a  reflection  of  the  complete 
stupefaction  that  had  descended  upon  her.  "  Laws 
A'mighty,  what  a  ragin'  devil  that  man  is,  honey!  I'se 
seen  men  an'  men  —  an'  I  knowed  a  nigger  once  that 
was " 

But  Martha  paused,  for  Marion  was  paying  no  atten 
tion  to  her.  The  girl  was  pulling  some  articles  of  wear 
ing  apparel  from  some  drawers,  packing  them  hurriedly 
into  a  small  handbag,  and  Martha  sprang  quickly  to  help 
her,  divining  what  the  girl  intended  to  do. 

"  That's  right,  honey ;  doan  you  stay  heah  in  this  house 
another  minit!  You  git  out  as  quick  as  you  kin.  You 
go  right  over  to  that  Squint  man's  house  an'  tell  him  to 


A  MAN  BECOMES  A  BRUTE 171 

protect  you.  'Cause  you's  goin'  to  need  protection,  honey 
—  an'  don't  you  f orgit  it ! " 

The  girl's  white  face  was  an  eloquent  sign  of  her  con 
ception  of  the  danger  that  confronted  her.  But  she  spoke 
no  word  while  packing  her  handbag.  When  she  was 
ready  she  turned  to  the  door,  to  confront  Martha,  who 
also  carried  a  satchel.  Together  the  two  went  out  of  the 
house,  crossed  the  level  surrounding  it,  and  began  to 
descend  the  long  slope  that  led  down  into  the  mighty 
basin  in  which,  some  hours  before,  the  girl  had  seen  the 
pin-point  of  light  glimmering  across  the  sea  of  darkness 
toward  her.  And  toward  that  light,  as  toward  a  beacon 
that  promised  a  haven  from  a  storm,  she  went,  Martha 
following. 

From  a  window  of  the  house  a  man  watched  them  — 
Parsons  —  in  the  grip  of  a  paralyzing  terror,  his  pallid 
face  pressed  tightly  against  the  glass  of  the  window  as  he 
watched  until  he  could  see  them  no  longer. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  WaOKG  ANKLE 


BUD  HEMMINGWAY,  the  tall,  red-faced  young 
puncher  who  had  assisted  Quinton  Taylor  in  the 
sprained-ankle  deception,  saw  the  dawn  breaking  through 
one  of  the  windows  of  the  bunkhouse  when  he  suddenly 
opened  his  eyes  after  dreaming  of  steaming  flapjacks 
soaked  in  the  sirup  he  liked  best.  He  stretched  out  on  his 
back  in  the  wall-bunk  and  licked  his  lips. 

"Lordy,  I'm  hungry!" 

But  he  decided  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes  while  he  con 
sidered  the  cook  —  away  with  the  outfit  to  a  distant  corner 
of  the  range. 

He  reflected  bitterly  that  the  cook  was  away  most  of 
the  time,  and  that  a  man  fared  considerably  better  with 
the  outfit  than  he  did  by  staying  at  the  home  ranch.  For 
one  thing,  when  a  man  was  with  the  outfit  he  got  "  grub," 
without  having  to  rustle  it  himself  —  that  was  why  it  was 
better  to  be  with  the  outfit. 

"A  man  don't  git  nothin'  to  eat  at  all,  scarcely  —  when 
he's  got  to  rustle  his  own  grub,"  mourned  Bud.  "  He's 
got  the  appetite,  all  right,  but  he  don't  know  how  to  rassle 
the  ingredients  which  goes  into  good  grub.  Take  them 

172 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE 173 

flapjacks,  now."  (He  licked  his  lips  again.)  "They're 
scrumptuous.  But  that  damned  hyena  which  slings  grub 
for  the  outfit  won't  tell  a  man  how  he  makes  'em,  which 
greediness  is  goin'  to  git  him  into  a  heap  of  trouble  some 
day  —  when  I  git  so  hungry  that  I  feel  a  heap  reckless!" 

Bud  watched  the  dawn  broaden.  He  knew  he  ought  to 
get  up,  for  this  was  the  day  on  which  Marion  Harlan  was 
to  visit  the  Arrow  —  and  Taylor  had  warned  him  to  be 
on  hand  early  to  bandage  the  ankle  again  —  Taylor  having 
decided  that  not  enough  time  had  elapsed  to  effect  a  cure. 

But  Bud  did  not  get  up  until  a  glowing  shaft  entering 
the  window  warned  him  that  the  sun  was  soon  to  appear 
above  the  horizon.  Then  he  bounded  out  of  the  bunk  and 
lurched  heavily  to  an  east  window. 

What  he  saw  when  he  looked  out  made  him  gasp  for 
breath  and  hang  hard  to  the  window-sill,  while  his  eyes 
bulged  and  widened  with  astonishment.  For  upon  the 
porch  of  the  ranchhouse  —  seated  in  the  identical  chairs  in 
which  they  had  sat  during  their  previous  visit,  were 
Marion  Harlan  and  the  negro  woman ! 

Bud  stepped  back  from  the  window  and  rubbed  his 
eyes.  Then  he  went  to  the  window  again  and  looked  with 
all  his  vision.  And  then  a  grin  covered  his  face. 

For  the  two  women  seemed  to  be  asleep.  Bud  would 
have  sworn  they  were  asleep !  For  the  negress  was 
hunched  up  in  her  chair  —  a  big,  almost  shapeless  black 
mass  —  with  her  chin  hidden  in  the  swell  of  her  ample 


174 THE  RANCHMAN 

bosom;  while  the  girl  was  leaning  back,  her  figure  slack 
with  the  ntter  relaxation  that  accompanies  deep  sleep,  her 
eyes  dosed  and  her  hat  a  little  awry.  Bud  was  certain  she 
was  asleep,  for  no  girl  in  her  waking  moments  would  per 
mit  her  hat  to  rest  upon  her  head  in  that  negligent  manner. 

Bud  scratched  his  head  many  times  while  hurriedly 
getting  into  his  clothing. 

"  I'm  bettin'  they  didn't  wait  for  flapjacks  this  morn 
ing!"  he  confided  to  himself,  mentally.  "Must  like  it 
here  a  heap,"  he  reflected.  "Well,  there's  nothin'  like 
gittin'  an  early  start  when  you're  goin'  anywhere!"  he 
grinned. 

Stealthily  he  opened  the  door  of  the  bunkhouse,  watch 
ing  furtively  as  he  stepped  out,  lest  he  be  seen;  and  then 
when  he  noted  that  the  women  did  not  move,  he  darted 
across  the  yard,  vaulted  the  corral  fence,  ran  around  the 
corner  of  the  ranchhouse,  carefully  opened  a  rear  door, 
and  presently  stood  beside  a  bed  gently  shaking  its  tousled- 
haired  occupant 

"Git  up,  you  sufferin'  fool!"  he  whispered  hoarsely; 
"they're  here!" 

Taylor's  eyes  snapped  open  and  were  fixed  on  Bud  with 
a  resentful  glare,  which  instantly  changed  to  reserved 
amusement  when  he  saw  Bud's  bulging  eyes  and  general 
evidence  of  suppressed  excitement. 

He  yawned  sleepily,  stretching  his  arms  wide. 

"  The  outfit,  eh  ?    Well,  tell  Bothwell  I'll  see  him " 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE 175 

"Bothwell,  hell!"  sneered  Bud.  "It  ain't  the  outfit! 
It  ain't  no  damned  range  boss !  It's  her,  I  tell  you !  An' 
if  you're  figgerin'  on  gittin'  that  ankle  bandaged  be 
fore That  starts  you  to  runnin',  eh?"  he  jeered. 

For  Taylor  was  out  of  bed  with  one  leap.  In  another 
he  had  Bud  by  the  shoulders  and  had  crowded  him  back 
against  the  wall. 

"Bud,"  he  said,  "I've  a  notion  to  manhandle  you! 
Didn't  I  tell  you  to  have  me  up  early?" 

"  Git  your  fingers  out  of  my  windpipe,"  objected  Bud, 
"  Early !  Sufferin'  shorthorns !  Did  you  want  me  to  git 
you  up  last  night?  It's  only  four,  now  —  an'  they've  been 
here  for  hours,  I  reckon  —  mebbe  all  night.  How's  a  man 
to  know  anything  about  a  woman  ?  " 

Taylor  was  getting  into  his  clothes.  Bud  watched  him, 
marveling  at  his  deft  movements.  "  You're  sure  a  wolf  at 
hustlin'  when  she's  around ! "  he  offered. 

But  he  got  no  reply.  Taylor  was  dressed  in  a  miracu 
lously  short  time,  and  then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  and  stuck  a  foot  out  toward  Bud. 

"  Shut  up,  and  get  the  bandage  on ! "  he  directed. 

Bud  dove  for  a  dresser  and  pulled  out  a  drawer,  return 
ing  instantly  with  a  roll  of  white  cloth,  which  he  unfolded 
as  he  knelt  beside  the  bed.  For  an  instant  after  kneeling 
he  scratched  his  head,  looking  at  Taylor's  feet  in  perplex 
ity,  and  then  he  looked  up  at  Taylor,  his  face  thoughtfully 
furrowed. 


176 THE  RANCHMAN 

"Which  ankle  was  it  I  bandaged  before?"  he  de 
manded;  "I've  forgot!" 

Taylor  groaned.  He,  too,  had  forgotten.  Since  he  had 
talked  with  Neil  Norton  about  the  ankle  directly  after 
the  fight  with  Carrington  in  front  of  the  courthouse  he 
had  tried  in  vain  to  remember  which  ankle  he  had  ban 
daged  for  Miss  Harlan's  benefit.  Driven  to  the  necessity 
of  making  a  quick  decision,  his  brain  became  a  mere 
muddle  of  desperate  conjecture.  Out  of  the  muddle 
sprang  a  disgust  for  Bud  for  his  poor  memory. 

"  You've  forgot !  "  he  blurted  at  Bud.  "  Why,  damn  it, 
you  ought  to  know  which  one  it  was  —  you  bandaged  it !  " 

"Well,"  grinned  Bud  gleefully,  "it  was  your  ankle, 
wasn't  it?  Strikes  me  that  if  I  busted  one  of  my  ankles  I 
wouldn't  forget  which  one  it  was!  Leastways,  if  I'd 
busted  it  just  to  hang  around  a  girl !  " 

Taylor  sneered  scornfully.  "You  wouldn't  bust  an 
ankle  for  a  girl  —  you  ain't  got  backbone  enough.  Hell !  " 
he  exploded;  "do  something!  Take  a  chance  and  ban 
dage  one  of  them  —  I  don't  care  a  damn  which  one!  If 
she  noticed  the  other  time,  I'll  tell  her  that  one  was  cured 
and  I  busted  the  other  one !  " 

"  She'd  know  you  was  lyin',"  grinned  Bud.  He  stood 
erect,  his  eyes  alight  with  an  inspiration.  "  Wrap  up  both 
of  'em !  "  he  suggested.  "If  she  goes  to  gittin'  curious  — • 
which  she  will,  bein'  a  woman  —  tell  her  you  busted  both 
of 'em!" 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE  17 T 

"It  won't  do,"  objected  Taylor;  "I  couldn't  lie  that 
heavy  an'  keep  a  straight  face." 

Bud  began  to  wrap  the  left  ankle.  As  he  worked,  the 
doubt  in  his  eyes  began  to  fade  and  was  succeeded  by  con 
viction.  When  he  finished,  he  stood  up  and  grinned  at 
Taylor. 

"  That's  the  one,"  he  said ;  "  the  left.  I  mind,  now,  that 
we  talked  about  it.  You  go  right  out  to  her,  limpin',  the 
same  as  you  done  before,  an'  she'll  not  say  a  word  about 
it.  You'll  see." 

Taylor  grunted  disbelievingly,  and  hobbled  to  the  front 
door.  He  looked  back  at  Bud,  who  was  snickering,  made 
a  malicious  grimace  at  him,  and  softly  opened  the  door. 

Miss  Harlan  had  been  asleep,  but  she  was  not  asleep 
when  Taylor  opened  the  door.  Indeed,  she  was  never 
more  wide  awake  in  her  life.  At  the  sound  of  the  door 
opening  she  turned  her  head  and  sat  stiffly  erect,  to  face 
Taylor. 

Taylor  looked  apologetically  at  his  ankle,  his  cheeks 
tinged  with  a  flush  of  embarrassment. 

"This  ankle,  ma'am  —  it  ain't  quite  well  yet.  You'll 
excuse  me  not  being  gone.  But  Bud  —  that's  my  friend 
—  says  it  won't  be  quite  right  for  a  few  days  yet.  But  I 
won't  be  in  your  way  —  and  I  hope  you  enjoy  yourself." 

Miss  Harlan  was  enjoying  herself.  She  was  enjoying 
herself  despite  the  shadow  of  the  tragedy  that  had  almost 
descended  upon  her.  And  mirth,  routing  the  bitter,  re-? 


178  THE  RANCHMAN 

sentful  emotions  that  had  dwelt  in  her  heart  during  the 
night,  twitched  mightily  at  her  lips  and  threatened  to 
curve  them  into  a  smile. 

For  during  her  last  visit  to  the  Arrow  she  had  noted 
particularly  that  it  had  been  Taylor's  right  ankle  which 
had  been  bandaged,  and  now  he  appeared  before  her  with 
the  left  swathed  in  white  cloth ! 

But  even  had  she  not  known,  Taylor's  face  must  have 
told  her  of  the  deception.  For  there  was  guilt  in  his  eyes, 
and  doubt,  and  a  sort  of  breathless  speculation,  and  —  she 
was  certain  —  an  intense  curiosity  to  discover  whether  or 
not  she  was  aware  of  the  trick. 

But  she  looked  straight  at  him,  betraying  nothing  of  the 
emotions  that  had  seized  her. 

"  Does  it  pain  you  very  much  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Had  not  Taylor  been  so  eager  to  make  his  case  strong, 
he  might  have  noted  the  exceedingly  light  sarcasm  of  her 
voice. 

"  It  hurts  a  heap,  ma'am,"  he  declared.  "  Why,  last 
night " 

"  I  shouldn't  think  it  would  be  necessary  to  lie  about  an 
ankle,"  she  said,  coldly. 

Taylor's  face  went  crimson,  and  in  his  astonishment  he 
stepped  heavily  upon  the  traitor  foot  and  stood,  convicted, 
before  her,  looking  very  much  like  a  reproved  schoolboy. 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  now  she  turned  from  Tay 
lor  and  stood  looking  out  over  the  big  level,  while  behind 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE  179 

her  Taylor  shifted  his  feet,  scowled  and  felt  decidedly 
uncom  f  ortable. 

From  where  Taylor  watched  her  she  looked  very  rigid 
and  indignant  —  with  her  head  proudly  erect  and  her 
shoulders  squared ;  and  he  could  almost  feel  that  her  eyes 
were  flashing  with  resentment. 

Yet  had  he  been  able  to  see  her  face,  he  would  have 
seen  her  lips  twitching  and  her  eyes  dancing  with  a  light 
that  might  have  puzzled  him.  For  she  had  already 
forgiven  him. 

"  There's  lies  —  and  lies,"  he  offered  palliatively,  break 
ing  a  painful  silence. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  Taylor,  desperately  in  ear 
nest  in  his  desire  for  forgiveness,  and  looking  decidedly 
funny  to  Bud  Hemmingway,  who  was  watching  from 
the  interior  of  the  room  beyond  the  open  door,  walked 
across  the  porch  with  no  suspicion  of  a  limp,  and  halted 
near  the  girl. 

"Shucks,  Miss  Harlan,"  he  said.  "I'm  sure  caught; 
and  I'm  admitting  it  was  a  sort  of  mean  trick  to  pull  off 
on  you.  But  if  you  wanted  to  be  near  a  girl  you'd  taken 
a  shine  to  —  that  you  liked  a  whole  lot,  I  mean,  Miss 
Harlan  —  and  you  couldn't  think  of  any  good  excuse  to 
be  around  her?  You  couldn't  blame  a  man  for  that  — 
could  you  ?  Besides,"  he  added,  when  peering  at  the  side 
of  her  face,  he  saw  the  twitching  lips,  ready  to  break 
into  a  smile,  "  111  make  it  up  to  you ! " 


180 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  How  ?  "    It  vr as  a  strained  voice  that  answered  him. 

"By  manhandling  Bud  Hemmingway  for  wrapping 
up  the  wrong  ankle,  ma'am !  "  he  declared. 

Both  heard  a  cackle  of  mirth  from  the  room  behind 
them.  And  both  turned,  to  see  Bud  Hemmingway  re 
treating  through  a  door  into  the  kitchen. 

It  might  have  been  Bud's  action  that  brought  the  smile 
to  Miss  Harlan's  face,  or  it  might  have  been  that  she 
had  forgiven  Taylor.  But  at  any  rate  Taylor  read  the 
smile  correctly,  and  he  succeeded  in  looking  properly 
repentant  when  he  felt  Miss  Harlan's  gaze  upon  him. 

"I  won't  play  any  more  tricks  —  on  you,"  he  declared. 
"  You  ain't  holding  it  against  me?" 

"If  you  will  promise  not  to  harm  Bud,"  she  said. 

"That  goes,"  he  agreed,  and  went  into  the  house  to 
get  his  discarded  boot. 

When  he  reappeared,  Miss  Harlan  was  again  seated 
in  the  chair.  Swiftly  her  thoughts  had  reverted  to  the 
incident  of  the  night  before,  and  her  face  was  wan  and 
pale,  and  her  lips  pressed  tightly  together  in  a  brave 
effort  to  repress  the  emotions  that  rioted  within  her.  In 
spite  of  her  courage,  and  of  her  determination  not  to  let 
Taylor  know  of  what  had  happened  to  her,  her  eyes  were 
moist  and  her  lips  quivering. 

He  stepped  close  to  her  and  peered  sharply  at  her, 
standing  erect  instantly,  his  face  grave. 

"Shucks!"  he  said,  accusingly;  "I  wouldn't  be  called 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE  181 

hospitable  — now,  would  I?  Standing  here,  talking  a 
lot  of  nonsense,  and  you  —  you  must  have  started  early 
to  get  here  by  this  time!"  Again  he  flashed  a  keen 
glance  at  her,  and  his  voice  leaped. 

"  Something  has  happened,  Miss  Harlan !    What  is  it?  " 

She  got  up  again  and  faced  him,  smiling,  her  eyes  shin 
ing  mistily  through  the  moisture  in  them.  She  was  almost 
on  the  verge  of  tears,  and  her  voice  was  tremulous  when 
she  answered: 

"Mr.  Taylor,  I  —  I  have  come  to  ask  if  you  —  still  — 
if  your  offer  about  the  Arrow  is  still  open  —  if  —  I  could 
stay  here  —  myself  and  Martha;  if  I  could  accept  the  offer 
you  made  about  giving  me  father's  share  of  the  Arrow. 
For — for  —  I  can't  go  back  East  —  to  Westwood,  and 
I  won't  stay  in  the  Huggins  house  a  minute  longer ! " 

"Sure!"  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile,  aware  of  her 
profound  emotion;  aware,  too,  that  something  had  gone 
terribly  wrong  with  her  —  to  make  her  accept  what  she 
had  once  considered  charity  —  an  offer  made  out  of  his 
regard  for  her  father. 

"But,  look  here,"  he  added.  "What's  wrong?  There's 
something " 

"  Plenty,  Mr.  Squint." 

This  was  Martha.  She  had  been  awake  for  some  little 
time,  sitting  back  with  her  eyes  closed,  listening.  She 
was  now  sitting  erect,  her  eyes  shining  with  eagerness 
to  tell  all  she  knew  of  the  night's  happenings. 


182 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  Plenty,  Mr.  Squint,"  she  repeated,  paying  no  atten 
tion  to  Miss  Harlan's  sharp,  "Martha!"  "That  big 
rapscallion,  Carrington,  has  been  makin'  things  mighty 
mis'able  for  Missy  Harlan.  He  come  to  the  house  las' 
night  an'  bust  the  door  down,  tryin'  to  git  at  missy,  an' 
she's  run  away  from  him  like  a  whitehead.  Then,  when 
he  finds  he  can't  diskiver  where  I  hide  missy  he  run  the 
hosses  off  an'  we  have  to  walk  heah.  That's  all,  Mr. 
Squint,  'ceptin*  that  me  an'  missy  doan  stay  in  that  house 
no  more  —  if  we  have  to  walk  East  —  all  the  way!" 

Miss  Harlan  saw  a  flash  light  Taylor's  eyes;  saw  the 
flash  recede,  to  be  replaced  by  a  chilling  glow.  And  his 
lips  grew  straight  and  stiff  —  two  hard  lines  pressed 
firmly  together.  She  saw  his  chest  swell  and  noted  the 
tenseness  of  his  muscles  as  he  stepped  closer  to  her. 

"  Was  your  uncle  there  with  you,  Miss  Harlan?  " 

She  nodded,  and  saw  his  lips  curve  with  a  mirthless 
smile. 

"  What  did  Carrington  do  ?  "  The  passion  in  his  voice 
made  an  icy  shiver  run  over  her  —  she  felt  the  terrible 
earnestness  that  had  come  over  him,  and  a  pulse  of  fear 
gripped  her. 

She  had  never  felt  more  like  crying  than  at  this  instant, 
and  until  this  minute  she  had  not  known  how  deeply  she 
had  been  affected  by  Carrington's  conduct,  nor  how  tired 
she  was,  nor  how  she  had  yearned  for  the  sympathy 
Taylor  was  giving  her.  But  she  felt  that  something  in 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE  183 

Taylor's  manner  portended  violence,  and  she  did  not  want 
him  to  risk  his  life  fighting  Carrington  —  for  her. 

"  You  see,"  she  explained,  "  Mr.  Carrington  did  not 
really  do  anything.  He  just  came  there,  and  was  imper 
tinent,  and  impudent,  and  insulting.  And  he  told  me 
that  he  had  bought  the  house ;  that  it  didn't  belong  to  uncle 
—  though  I  thought  it  did;  and  that  the  people  of 
Dawes  —  and  everywhere  —  would  think  —  things  — 
about  me  —  as  the  people  of  Westwood  had  —  thought. 
And  I  —  I  —  why,  I  just  couldn't  stay " 

"That's  enough,  Miss  Harlan.  So  Carrington  didn't 
do  anything."  His  voice  was  vibrant  with  some  sternly 
repressed  passion. 

"  So  you  walked  all  the  way  here,  and  you  have  had 
no  breakfast,"  he  said,  shortly.  He  turned  toward  the 
front  door,  his  voice  snapping  like  the  report  of  a  rifle: 

"Bud!" 

And,  looking  through  the  doorway,  Miss  Harlan  saw 
Bud  jump  as  though  he  had  been  shot.  He  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  serious-faced  and  alert. 

"Rustle  some  breakfast  —  quick!  And  hoe  out  that 
spare  bedroom.  Jump !  " 

Taylor  understood  perfectly  what  had  happened,  for 
he  remembered  what  he  had  overheard  between  Carrington 
and  Parsons  on  the  train.  To  be  sure,  Miss  Harlan  knew 
nothing  about  the  conversation,  and  so  she  mentally  com 
mended  Taylor's  quickness  of  perception,  and  felt  grate- 


184 THE  RANCHMAN 

ful  to  him  because  he  had  spared  her  the  horror  of 
explaining  further. 

She  sat  down  again,  aware  of  the  startling  unconven- 
tionality  of  this  visit  and  of  the  conversation  that  had 
resulted  from  it,  but  oppressed  with  no  sense  of  shame. 
For  it  seemed  entirely  natural  that  she  should  have  come 
to  Taylor,  though  she  supposed  that  was  because  he  had 
been  her  father's  friend,  and  that  she  had  no  other  person 
to  go  to  —  not  even  if  she  went  East,  to  Westwood.  But 
she  would  not  have  mentioned  what  had  happened  at  the 
big  house  if  Martha  had  not  taken  the  initiative. 

She  was  startled  over  the  change  that  had  come  in 
Taylor.  Watching  him  covertly  as  he  stood  near  her, 
and  following  his  movements  as  he  walked  around  in  the 
room,  helping  Bud,  generously  leaving  her  to  herself 
and  her  thoughts,  she  looked  in  vain  for  that  gentleness 
and  subtle  thought  fulness  that  hitherto  had  seemed  to 
distinguish  him.  She  had  admired  him  for  his  easy-going 
manner,  the  slow  deliberateness  of  his  glances,  the 
quizzical  gleam  of  his  eyes. 

But  she  saw  him  now  as  many  of  the  men  in  this  sec 
tion  of  the  country  had  seen  him  when  he  faced  the  neces 
sity  for  rapid,  determined  action.  It  was  the  other  side 
of  his  character;  before  she  had  heard  his  voice,  and 
before  she  had  seen  him  smile  —  the  stern,  unyielding  side 
of  him  which  she  had  discovered  always  was  ready  for 
the  blows  of  adversity  and  enmity  —  his  fighting  side. 


THE  WRONG  ANKLE 185 

And  when  she  went  into  the  house  to  breakfast,  feeling 
the  strangeness  of  it  all  —  of  the  odd  fate  which  had  led 
her  to  the  Arrow;  the  queer  reluctance  that  affected  her 
over  the  action  in  accepting  the  hospitality  of  a  man  who 
—  except  for  his  association  with  her  father  —  was  almost 
a  stranger  to  her  —  she  found  that  he  did  not  intend  to 
insinuate  his  presence  upon  her. 

He  called  her,  and  stood  near  the  table  when  she  and 
Martha  went  in.  Then  he  told  her  gravely  that  the  house 
was  "hers,"  and  that  he  and  Bud  \vould  live  in  the 
bunkhouse. 

"And  when  you  get  settled,"  he  told  her,  as  he  stood 
in  the  doorway,  ready  to  go,  "we'll  write  those  articles 
of  partnership.  And,"  he  added,  "  don't  you  go  to  worry 
ing  about  Carrington.  If  he  comes  here,  and  Bud  or  me 
ain't  here,  you'll  find  a  loaded  rifle  hanging  behind  the 
front  door.  Don't  be  afraid  to  use  it  —  there's  no 
against  killing  snakes  out  here ! " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  BEAST  AGAIN 

CARRINGTON  was  conscious  of  the  error  his 
unrestrained  passion  had  driven  him  to  committing. 
Yet  he  had  not  been  sincere  when  he  had  declared  to 
Martha  that  he  wouldn't  bother  the  girl  again.  For  after 
leading  the  two  horses  to  Dawes  and  arranging  for  their 
care,  he  hunted  up  Danforth.  It  was  nearly  midnight 
when  Danforth  reached  Carrington's  rooms  in  the  Castle, 
and  Carrington  was  in  a  sullen  mood. 

"  I  want  two  or  three  men  who  will  do  what  they  are 
told  and  keep  their  mouths  shut,"  he  told  Danforth.  "  Get 
them  —  quick  —  and  send  them  to  the  Huggins  house  — 
mine,  now  —  and  have  them  stay  there.  Nobody  is  to 
leave  the  house  —  not  even  to  come  to  town.  Under 
stand?  Not  even  Parsons.  Hustle!  There  is  no  train 
out  of  here  tonight?  No?  Well,  that's  all  right  Get 
going!" 

Danforth  had  noticed  Carrington's  sullenness,  and  the 
strained  excitement  of  his  manner,  and  there  was  in  Dan- 
forth's  mind  an  inclination  to  warn  Carrington  about  in 
cluding  the  woman  in  the  scheme  to  subjugate  Dawes  — 
for  he  knew  Carrington  of  old ;  but  a  certain  light  in  the 

186 


THE  BEAST  AGAIN 


big  man's  eyes  warned  Dan  forth  and  he  shut  his  half- 
opened  lips  and  departed  on  his  errand. 

In  an  hour  he  returned,  telling  Carrington  that  his 
orders  had  been  obeyed. 

Dan  forth  seated  himself  in  a  chair  near  one  of  the 
front  windows  and  waited,  for  he  knew  Carrington  still 
had  something  to  say  to  him  —  the  man's  eyes  told  him, 
for  they  were  alight  with  a  cold,  speculative  gleam  as  they 
rested  on  Dan  forth. 

At  last,  after  a  silence  that  lasted  long,  Carrington  said, 
shortly : 

"What  do  you  know  about  Taylor?" 

"What  I  told  you  before  —  the  first  day.  And  that 
isn't  much." 

"I  had  a  talk  with  Parsons  the  other  day  —  about 
Larry  Harlan,"  said  Carrington.  "It  seems  that  Larry 
Harlan  worked  for  Taylor  —  for  two  or  three  years. 
I  didn't  question  Parsons  closely  about  the  connection 
between  Taylor  and  Harlan,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Par 
sons  mentioned  a  mine.  What  about  it?  Do  you  know 
anything  about  it  ?  " 

Dan  forth  related  what  he  knew  regarding  the  inci 
dent  of  the  mine  —  the  story  told  by  Taylor  when  he 
returned  after  Larry  Harlan's  death  —  and  Carrington's 
eyes  gleamed  with  interest. 

"  Do  you  think  he  told  a  straight  story?  "  he  asked. 

He  watched  Danforth  intently. 


188 THE  RANCHMAN 

"Hell,  yes!"  declared  the  other.  "He's  too  square 
to  lie!" 

Five  minutes  later  Carrington  said  good-night  to  Dan- 
forth.  But  Carrington  did  not  immediately  go  to  bed; 
he  sat  for  a  long  time  in  a  chair  near  the  window  looking 
out  at  the  buildings  of  Dawes. 

In  the  courtroom  early  the  next  morning  he  leaned  over 
Judge  Littlefield's  desk,  smiling. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Quinton  Taylor  being  connected 
iyvith  a  mining  venture  ?  " 

"Well,  rather." 

"Where?" 

"At  Nogel  —  in  the  Sangre  de  Christo  Mountains." 

"How  far  is  that?" 

"About  ten  miles  —  due  west." 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  mine?" 

"  Very  little.  Taylor  and  a  man  named  Lawrence  Har- 
lan  registered  the  claim  here.  I  heard  that  Harlan  died  — 
was  killed  in  an  accident.  Soon  afterward,  Taylor  sold 
the  mine  —  to  a  man  named  Thornton  —  for  a  consid 
eration,  not  mentioned."  The  judge  looked  sharply  at 
Carrington.  "Why  this  inquiry?"  he  asked;  "do  you 
think  there  is  anything  wrong  about  the  transaction?" 

"There  is  no  determining  that  until  an  investigation 
is  made."  Carrington  laughed  as  he  left  the  judge. 

Later  he  got  on  his  horse  and  rode  to  the  big  house. 
On  the  front  porch,  seated  in  a  chair,  smoking,  he  saw 


THE  BEAST  AGAIN 189 

one  of  the  men  Dan  forth  had  sent  in  obedience  to  his 
order;  at  the  rear  of  the  house  was  another;  and,  loung 
ing  carelessly  on  the  grass  near  the  edge  of  the  butte 
fringing  the  big  valley,  he  saw  still  another  —  men  who 
seemed  to  find  their  work  agreeable,  for  they  grinned 
at  Carrington  when  he  rode  up. 

Carrington  dismounted  and  entered  the  house  —  by  one 
of  the  rear  doors  —  which  he  had  wrecked  the  night  be 
fore.  He  went  in  boldly,  grinning,  for  he  anticipated  that 
by  this  time  Marion  Harlan  would  have  reached  that  stage 
of  intimidation  where  she  would  no  longer  resist  him. 

At  first  he  was  only  mildly  disturbed  at  the  appearance 
of  the  interior;  for  nothing  had  been  done  to  bring  order 
out  of  the  chaos  he  had  created  the  night  before,  and  the 
condition  of  the  furniture,  and  the  atmosphere  of  gloomy 
emptiness  that  greeted  him  indicated  nothing.  The  terror 
under  which  the  girl  had  labored  during  the  night  might 
still  be  gripping  her. 

He  had  no  suspicion  that  the  girl  had  left  the  house 
until  after  he  had  looked  into  all  the  rooms  but  the  one 
occupied  by  Parsons.  Then  a  conviction  that  she  had 
fled  seized  him;  he  scowled  and  leaped  to  the  door  of 
Parsons'  room,  pounding  heavily  upon  it. 

Parsons  did  not  answer  his  knock,  and  an  instant  later, 
when  Carrington  forced  the  door  and  stepped  into  the 
room,  he  saw  Parsons  standing  near  a  window,  pallid 
and  shaking. 


190 THE  RANCHMAN 

With  a  bound  Carrington  reached  Parsons'  side  and 
gripped  the  man  by  the  collar  of  his  coat. 

"Where's  Miss  Harlan?"  he  demanded.  He  noted 
that  Parsons  swayed  in  his  grasp,  and  he  peered  at  the 
other  with  a  malignant  joy.  He  had  always  hated  Par 
sons,  tolerating  him  because  of  Parsons'  money. 

"She's  gone,"  whispered  Parsons  tremulously.  "I  — 
I  tried  to  stop  her,  knowing  you  wouldn't  want  it,  but 
—  she  went  away  —  anyway." 

"  Where  ?  "  Carrington's  fingers  were  gripping  Par 
sons'  shoulder  near  the  throat  with  a  bitter,  viselike 
strength  that  made  the  man  cringe  and  groan  from  the 
pain  of  it. 

"Don't,  Jim;  for  God's  sake,  don't!  You're  hurting 
me!  I  —  I  couldn't  help  it;  I  couldn't  stop  her!" 

The  abject,  terrified  appeal  in  his  eyes;  the  fawning, 
doglike  subjection  of  his  manner,  enraged  Carrington. 
He  shook  the  little  man  with  a  force  that  racked  the 
other  from  head  to  heel. 

"Where  did  she  go  —  damn  you!" 

"To  the  Arrow." 

Aroused  to  desperation  by  the  flaming  fury  that  blazed 
in  Carrington's  eyes,  Parsons  tried  to  wrench  himself 
free,  tugging  desperately,  and  whining :  "  Don't,  Jim !" 
For  he  knew  that  he  was  to  be  punished  for  his  derelic 
tion. 

He  shrieked  when  Carrington  struck  him;  a  sound 


THE  BEAST  AGAIN 191 

which  died  in  his  throat  as  the  blow  landed.  Carrington. 
left  him  lie  where  he  fell,  and  went  out  to  the  men,  inter 
rogating  the  one  he  had  seen  on  the  front  porch. 

From  that  person  he  learned  that  no  one  had  left  the 
house  since  the  men  had  come;  so  that  Carrington  knew 
Marion  must  have  departed  soon  after  he  had  left  the 
night  before  —  or  some  time  during  the  time  of  his 
departure  and  the  arrival  of  the  men. 

Ten  minutes  after  emerging  from  the  house  he  went 
in  again.  Parsons  was  sitting  on  the  floor  of  his  room, 
swaying  weakly  back  and  forth,  whining  tonelessly,  his 
lips  loose  and  drooling  blood. 

For  an  instant  Carrington  stood  over  him,  looking 
down  at  him  with  a  merciless,  tigerlike  grin.  Then  he 
stooped,  gripped  Parsons  by  the  shoulders,  and,  lifting 
him  bodily,  threw  him  across  the  bed.  Parsons  did  not 
resist,  but  lay,  his  arms  flung  wide,  watching  the  big 
man  fearfully. 

"Don't  hit  me  again,  Jim!"  he  pleaded.  "Jim,  I've 
never  done  anything  to  you ! " 

"Bah!"  Carrington  leaned  over  the  other,  grinning 
malevolently. 

"  You've  double-crossed  me,  Elam,"  he  said  silkily. 
"You're  through.  Get  out  of  here  before  I  kill  you! 
I  want  to;  and  if  you  are  here  in  five  minutes,  I  shall  kill 
you!  Go  to  the  Arrow  —  with  your  niece.  Tell  her 
what  you  know  about  me  —  if  you  haven't  done  so  al- 


192 THE  RANCHMAN 

ready.  And  tell  her  that  I  am  coming  for  her  —  and  for 
Taylor,  too!  Now,  get  out!" 

In  less  than  five  minutes,  while  Carrington  was  at  the 
front  of  the  house  talking  with  the  three  men,  Parsons 
tottered  from  a  rear  door,  staggered  weakly  into  some 
dense  shrubbery  that  skirted  the  far  side  of  the  house, 
and  made  his  slow  way  toward  the  big  slope  down  which 
Marion  and  Martha  had  gone  some  hours  before. 

Retribution  had  descended  swiftly  upon  Parsons;  it 
seemed  to  him  he  was  out  of  it,  crushed  and  beaten.  But 
no  thread  of  philosophy  weaved  its  way  through  the  fabric 
of  the  man's  complete  misery  and  humiliation,  and  no 
reflection  that  he  had  merely  reaped  what  he  had  sown 
glimmered  in  his  consciousness.  He  was  merely  conscious 
that  he  had  been  beaten  and  robbed  by  the  man  who  had 
always  been  his  confederate,  and  as  he  reeled  down  the 
big  slope  on  his  way  to  the  Arrow  he  whined  and  moaned 
in  a  toneless  voice  of  vengeance  —  and  more  vengeance. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  AMBUSH 

THE  incident  of  the  fight  between  Carrington,  Dan- 
forth,  Judge  Littlefield,  and  Taylor  in  front  of  the 
courthouse  had  eloquently  revealed  a  trait  of  Taylor's 
character  which  was  quite  generally  known  to  the  people 
of  Dawes,  and  which,  in  a  great  measure,  accounted  for 
Taylor's  popularity. 

Few  of  Dawes's  citizens  had  ever  seen  Taylor  angry. 
Neil  Norton  had  seen  him  in  a  rage  once,  and  the  memory 
of  the  man's  face  was  still  vivid.  A  few  of  the  town's 
citizens  had  watched  him  once  —  when  he  had  thrashed 
a  gunman  who  had  insulted  him  —  and  the  story  of  that 
fight  still  taxed  the  vocabularies  of  those  who  had  wit 
nessed  it.  One  enthusiastic  watcher,  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  fight,  had  picturesquely  termed  Taylor  a  "  regular 
he-wolf  in  a  scrap;"  and  thus  there  was  written  into  the 
traditions  of  the  town  a  page  of  his  history  which  carried 
the  lesson,  repeated  by  many  tongues : 

"Don't  rile  Taylor!" 

Riding  into  Dawes  about  two  hours  after  he  had  heard 
from  Marion  Harlan  the  story  of  the  attack  on  her  by 
Carrington,  Taylor's  face  was  set  and  grim.  His  ancient 

193 


194 THE  RANCHMAN 

hatred  of  Carrington  was  intensified  by  another  passion 
that  had  burned  its  way  into  his  heart,  filling  it  with  a 
primitive  lust  to  destroy  —  jealousy. 

He  dismounted  in  front  of  the  Castle  Hotel,  and,  enter 
ing,  he  asked  the  clerk  where  he  could  find  Carrington. 
The  clerk  could  give  him  no  information,  and  Taylor 
went  out,  the  clerk's  puzzled  gaze  following  him. 

"  Evidently  he  doesn't  want  to  congratulate  Carrington 
about  anything,"  the  clerk  confided  to  a  bystander. 

Mounting  his  horse,  Taylor  rode  down  the  street  to  the 
building  which  Danforth  had  selected  as  a  place  from 
which  to  administer  the  government  of  Dawes.  A  gilt 
sign  over  the  front  bore  upon  it  the  words: 

CITX  HALL. 

Taylor  went  inside,  and  found  Danforth  seated  at  a 
desk.  The  latter  looked  sourly  at  his  visitor  until  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  eyes,  then  his  face  paled,  and  he 
sat  silent  until  Taylor  spoke: 

"  Where's  Carrington  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  Carrington  this  morning,"  lied  Dan 
forth,  for  he  had  seen  Carrington  some  time  before, 
riding  out  of  town  toward  the  Huggins  house.  He  sus 
pected  Carrington's  errand  was  in  some  way  concerned 
with  the  three  men  who  had  been  sent  there.  But  he 
divined  from  the  expression  in  Taylor's  eyes  that  trouble 
between  Taylor  and  Carrington  was  imminent,  and  he 


THE  AMBUSH  195 


would  not  set  Taylor  on  the  other's  trail  without  first 
warning  Carrington. 

He  met  Taylor's  straight,  cold  look  of  disbelief  with 
a  vindictive  smirk,  which  grew  venomous  as  Taylor 
wheeled  and  walked  out.  Taylor  had  not  gone  far  when 
Danforth  called  a  man  to  his  side,  whispered  rapidly  to 
him,  telling  him  to  hurry.  Later  the  man  slipped  out  of 
the  rear  door  of  the  building,  mounted  a  horse,  and  rode 
hurriedly  down  the  river  trail  toward  the  Huggins  house. 

Taylor  rode  to  the  Eagle  office,  but  Norton  was  not 
there,  and  so,  pursuing  his  quest,  Taylor  looked  into  sa 
loons  and  stores,  and  various  other  places.  Men  who 
knew  him  noted  his  taciturnity  —  for  he  spoke  little  except 
to  greet  a  friend  here  and  there  shortly  —  and  commented 
upon  his  abrupt  manner. 

"What's  up  with  Taylor?"  asked  a  man  who  knew 
him.  "Looks  sort  of  riled." 

Taylor  found  Carrington  in  none  of  the  places  in  which 
he  looked.  He  returned  to  the  Eagle  office,  and  found 
Norton  there.  He  greeted  Norton  with  a  short: 

"Seen  Carrington?" 

"Why,  yes."  Norton  peered  closely  at  his  friend. 
"What  in  blazes  is  wrong?"  His  thoughts  went  to  an 
other  time,  when  he  had  seen  Taylor  as  he  appeared  now, 
and  he  drew  a  deep  breath. 

Briefly  Taylor  told  him,  and  when  the  tale  was  ended, 
Norton's  eyes  were  blazing  with  indignation. 


196  THE  RANCHMAN 

"  So,  that's  the  kind  of  a  whelp  he  is ! "  he  said.  "  Well," 
he  added,  "  I  saw  him  go  out  on  the  river  trail  a  while 
ago ;  it's  likely  he's  gone  to  the  Huggins  house." 

"His  —  now,"  said  Taylor;  "that's  what  makes  it 
worse.  Well,"  he  added  as  he  stepped  toward  the  door, 
"I'll  be  going." 

"Be  careful,  Squint,"  warned  Norton,  placing  a  hand 
on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "I  know  you  can  lick  him  — 
and  I  hope  you  give  him  all  that's  coming  to  him. 
But  watch  him  —  he's  tricky!"  He  paused.  "If  you 
need  any  help  —  someone  to  go  with  you,  to  keep 
an  eye " 

"  It's  a  one-man  job,"  grinned  Taylor  mirthlessly. 

"  You'll  promise  you  won't  be  thinking  of  that  ankle  — 
this  time?"  said  Norton  seriously. 

Taylor  permitted  himself  a  faint  smile.  "That's  all 
explained  now,"  he  said.  "She's  been  a  lot  generous—- 
and  forgiving.  No,"  he  added,  "  I  won't  be  thinking  of 
that  ankle  —  now!" 

And  then,  his  lips  setting  again,  he  crossed  the  side 
walk,  mounted  Spotted  Tail,  and  rode  through  town  to  the 
river  trail.  Watching  him,  Norton  saw  him  disappear 
in  some  timber  that  fringed  the  river. 

Carrington  had  finished  his  talk  with  the  three  men  he 
had  set  to  guard  the  Huggins  house.  The  men  were 
tdfd  to  stay  nntil  they  received  orders  from  Carrington 


THE  AMBUSH  197 


to  leave.  And  they  were  to  report  to  him  immediately 
if  anyone  came. 

Carrington  had  watched  Parsons  go  down  the  big 
slope;  and  for  a  long  time  after  he  had  finished  his  talk 
with  the  three  men  he  stood  on  the  front  porch  of  the 
house  watching  the  progress  made  by  Parsons  through 
the  basin. 

"  Following  Marion,"  Carrington  assured  himself,  with 
a  crooked  smile.  "  Well,  I'll  know  where  to  get  both  of 
them  when  I  want  them." 

Carrington  felt  not  the  slightest  tremor  of  pity  for 
Parsons.  He  laughed  deep  in  his  throat  with  a  venomous 
joy  as  he  saw  Parsons  slowly  making  his  way  through 
the  big  basin;  for  he  knew  Parsons  —  he  knew  that  the 
craven  nature  of  the  man  would  prevent  him  from  at 
tempting  any  reprisal  of  a  vigorous  character. 

Yet  the  exultation  in  the  big  man's  heart  was  dulled 
with  a  slight  regret  for  his  ruthless  attack  on  Marion 
Harlan.  He  should  not  have  been  so  eager,  he  told  him 
self ;  he  should  have  waited;  he  should  have  insinuated 
himself  into  her  good  graces,  and  then 

Scowling,  he  got  on  his  horse  and  rode  up  the  Dawes 
trail,  shouting  a  last  word  of  caution  to  the  three  men  — 
one  seated  on  the  front  porch,  the  other  two  lounging  in 
the  shade  of  a  tree  near  by. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  house,  riding  through  a  timber 
grove,  he  met  the  man  Dan  forth  had  sent  to  him.  The 


198 THE  RANCHMAN 

latter  gave  Carrington  the  message  he  carried,  which  was 
merely:  "Taylor  is  looking  for  you." 

"  Coming  here  ?  "  he  asked  the  man  sharply. 

"I  reckon  he  will  be  —  if  he  can't  find  you  in  town," 
said  the  man.  "  Danforth  said  Taylor  was  a  heap  fussed 
up,  an'  killin'  mad !  " 

A  grayish  pallor  stole  over  Carrington's  face,  and  he 
drew  a  quick  breath,  sending  a  rapid,  dreading  glance  up 
the  Dawes  trail.  Then,  coincident  with  a  crafty  back 
ward  look  —  toward  the  Huggins  house  —  the  grayish 
pallor  receded  and  a  rush  of  color  suffused  his  face.  He 
spoke  shortly  to  the  man : 

"  Sneak  back  —  by  a  roundabout  trail.  Don't  let  Taylor 
see  you!" 

He  watched  while  the  man  urged  his  horse  deep  into 
the  fringing  timber.  Carrington  could  see  him  for  a 
time  as  he  rode,  and  then,  when  horse  and  rider  had  van 
ished,  Carrington  wheeled  his  horse  and  sent  it  clattering 
back  along  the  trail  to  the  big  house. 

Arriving  there,  he  called  the  three  men  to  him  and 
talked  fast  to  them.  The  talk  ended,  the  men  ran  for 
their  horses,  and  a  few  minutes  later  they  raced  up  the 
river  trail  toward  Dawes,  their  faces  grim,  their  eyes 
alert. 

About  a  mile  up  the  trail,  where  a  wood  of  spruce  and 
fir-balsam  spread  dark  shadows  over  the  ground,  and  an 
almost  impenetrable  growth  of  brush  fringed  the  narrow, 


THE  AMBUSH  199 


winding  path  over  which  any  rider  going  to  the  big  house 
must  pass,  they  separated,  two  plunging  deep  into  the 
brush  on  one  side,  and  one  man  secreting  himself  on 
the  other  side. 

They  urged  their  horses  far  back,  where  they  could  not 
be  seen.  And  then,  concealing  themselves  behind  con 
venient  bushes,  they  waited,  their  eyes  trained  on  the 
Dawes  trail,  their  ears  attuned  to  catch  the  slightest  sound 
that  might  come  from  that  direction. 

Back  at  the  big  house  —  having  arranged  the  ambus 
cade —  Carrington  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  and  smiled 
evilly.  He  thought  he  knew  why  Taylor  was  looking  for 
him.  Marion  had  gone  to  the  Arrow,  to  tell  Taylor  what 
had  happened  at  the  big  house,  and  Taylor,  in  a  jealous 
rage,  intended  to  punish  him.  Well,  Taylor  could  come 
now. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH 

AND  Taylor  was  "coming."  The  big  black  horse  he 
was  riding  —  which  he  had  named  "  Spotted  Tail" 
because  of  the  white  blotches  that  startlingly  relieved  his 
somber  sable  coat  —  was  never  in  better  condition.  He 
stepped  lightly,  running  in  long,  smooth  leaps  down  the 
narrow  trail,  champing  at  the  bit,  keen  of  eye,  alert,  eager, 
snorting  his  impatience  over  the  tight  rein  his  rider  kept 
on  him. 

But  Spotted  Tail  was  not  more  eager  than  his  rider. 
Taylor,  however,  knowing  that  at  any  instant  he  might 
run  plump  into  Carrington,  returning  from  the  big  house, 
was  forced  to  restrain  his  impatience.  Therefore,  except 
on  the  straight  reaches  of  the  trail,  he  was  forced  to  pull 
the  black  down. 

But  they  were  traveling  fast  when  they  reached  the  tim 
ber  grove  in  which  Carrington's  men  were  concealed ;  and 
yet  on  the  damp  earth  of  the  trail,  where  the  sunlight 
could  not  penetrate,  and  where  the  leaves  of  past  sum 
mers  had  fallen,  to  rot  and  weave  a  pulpy  carpet,  the  rush 
of  Spotted  Tail's  passing  created  little  sound. 

.Within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  spot  where  Carrington's 

200 


A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH 201. 

men  were  concealed,  Spotted  Tail  shot  his  ears  forward 
stiffly  and  raised  his  muzzle  inquiringly.  Taylor,  noting 
the  action,  and  suspecting  that  instinct  had  warned 
Spotted  Tail  of  the  approach  of  another  horse,  drew  the 
animal  down  and  rode  forward  at  a  walk,  for  he  felt 
that  it  must  be  Carrington's  horse  which  was  approaching. 

Rounding  a  sharp  turn  in  the  trail,  Taylor  could  look 
ahead  for  perhaps  a  hundred  feet.  He  saw  no  rider 
advancing  toward  him,  and  he  leaned  forward,  slapping 
the  black's  neck  in  playful  reproach. 

As  he  moved  he  heard  the  heavy  crash  of  a  pistol  shot 
and  felt  the  bullet  sing  past  his  head.  Another  pistol 
barked  venomously  from  some  brush  on  his  right,  and 
still  another  from  his  left. 

But  none  of  the  bullets  struck  Taylor.  For  the  black 
horse,  startled  by  Taylor's  playful  movement  when  all  his 
senses  were  strained  to  detect  the  location  of  his  kind 
on  the  trail,  had  made  an  involuntary  forward  leap,  thus 
whisking  his  rider  out  of  the  line  of  fire.  And  before 
either  of  the  three  men  could  shoot  again,  Spotted  Tail 
had  flashed  down  the  trail  —  a  streak  of  somber  black 
against  the  green  background  of  the  trees. 

He  fled  over  the  hundred  feet  of  straight  trail  and 
had  vanished  around  a  bend  before  the  Carrington  men 
could  move  their  weapons  around  impeding  branches  of 
the  brush  that  covered  them.  There  was  no  stopping 
Spotted  Tail  now,  for  he  was  in  a  frenzy  of  terror  —  and 


202 THE  RANCHMAN 

he  made  a  mere  rushing  black  blot  as  he  emerged  from 
the  timber  and  fled  across  an  open  space  toward  another 
wood  —  the  wood  that  surrounded  the  big  house. 

Standing  on  the  front  porch  of  the  big  house,  nervously 
smoking  a  cigar,  his  face  set  in  sullen  lines,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  Dawes  trail,  Carrington  heard  the  shots.  He 
sighed,  grinned  maliciously,  and  relaxed  his  vigilance. 

"He's  settled  by  now,"  he  said. 

He  looked  at  one  of  the  chairs  standing  on  the  porch, 
thought  of  sitting  in  one  of  them  to  await  the  coming 
of  the  three  men,  decided  he  was  too  impatient  to  sit, 
and  began  walking  back  and  forth  on  the  porch. 

He  had  thrown  a  half-smoked  cigar  away  and  was 
lighting  another  when  he  saw  a  black  blot  burst  from  the 
edge  of  a  timber-clump  beyond  an  open  space.  The 
match  flared  and  went  out  as  Carrington  held  it  to  the  end 
of  the  cigar,  for  there  was  something  strangely  familiar 
in  the  shape  of  the  black  blot  —  even  with  it  heading 
directly  toward  him.  An  instant  later,  the  blot  looming 
larger  in  his  vision,  Carrington  dropped  cigar  and  match 
and  stood  staring  with  wild,  fear-haunted  eyes  at  the 
rushing  black  horse. 

Carrington  stood  motionless  a  little  longer  —  until  the 
black  horse,  its  rider  sitting  straight  in  the  saddle,  in  cow 
boy  fashion,  reached  the  edge  of  the  wood  surrounding 
the  house.  Then  Carrington,  cursing,  his  lips  in  a  hideous 
pout,  drew  a  pistol  from  a  hip-pocket.  And  when  the 


A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH 203 

black  horse  was  within  fifty  feet  of  him,  and  still  coming 
at  a  speed  which  there  was  no  gauging,  Carrington  leveled 
the  pistol. 

Once — twice  —  three,  four,  five,  six  times  he  pulled 
the  trigger  of  the  weapon.  Carrington  saw  a  grim,  mock 
ing  smile  on  the  rider  s  face,  and  knew  none  of  his  bullets 
had  taken  effect. 

Unarmed  now,  he  was  suddenly  stricken  with  a  panic 
of  fear;  and  while  the  rider  of  the  black  horse  was  dis 
mounting  at  the  edge  of  the  porch,  Carrington  dove  for 
the  front  door  of  the  house  and  vanished  inside,  slamming 
the  door  behind  him,  directly  in  the  rider's  face. 

When  Taylor  threw  the  door  open  he  saw  Carrington, 
far  back  in  the  room,  swinging  a  chair  over  his  head. 
At  Taylor's  appearance  he  threw  the  chair  with  all  the 
force  his  frenzy  of  fear  could  put  into  the  effort.  Tay 
lor  ducked,  and  the  chair  flew  past  him,  sailing  uninter 
ruptedly  outside  and  over  the  porch  railing. 

Carrington  ran  through  the  big  front  room,  through 
the  next  room  —  the  sitting-room  —  knocking  chairs  over 
in  his  flight,  throwing  a  big  center  table  at  his  silent, 
implacable  pursuer.  He  slammed  the  sitting-room  door 
and  tried  to  lock  it,  but  he  could  not  turn  the  key  quickly 
enough,  and  Taylor  burst  the  door  open,  almost  plunging 
against  Carrington  as  he  came  through  it. 

Carrington  ran  into  the  dining-room,  shoved  the  din 
ing-room  table  in  Taylor's  way  as  Taylor  tried  to  reach 


204 THE  RANCHMAN 

him;  but  Taylor  leaped  over  the  obstruction,  and  when 
Carrington  dodged  into  Marion  Harlan's  room,  Taylor 
was  so  close  that  he  might  have  grasped  the  big  man. 

Taylor  had  said  no  word.  The  big  man  saw  two  guns 
swinging  at  Taylor's  hips,  and  he  wondered  vaguely  why 
the  man  did  not  use  them.  It  occurred  to  Carrington  as 
he  plunged  through  Marion  Harlan's  room  into  Martha's, 
and  from  there  to  the  kitchen,  and  back  again  to  the 
dining-room,  that  Taylor  was  not  going  to  shoot  him,  and 
his  panic  partially  left  him. 

And  yet  there  was  a  gleam  in  Taylor's  eyes  that  made 
his  soul  cringe  in  terror  —  the  cold,  bitter  fury  of  a  peace- 
loving  man  thoroughly  aroused. 

Twice,  as  Taylor  pursued  Carrington  through  the  sit 
ting-room  again  and  into  another  big  room  that  adjoined 
it,  Carrington's  courage  revived  long  enough  to  permit 
him  to  consider  making  a  stand  against  Taylor,  but  each 
time  as  he  stiffened  with  the  determination,  the  terrible 
rage  in  Taylor's  eyes  dissuaded  him,  and  he  continued  to 
evade  the  clash. 

But  he  knew  that  the  clash  must  come,  and  when,  in 
their  rapid,  headlong  movements,  Carrington  came  close 
to  the  front  door  and  tried  to  slip  out  of  it,  Taylor  lunged 
against  him  and  struck  at  him,  the  fist  just  grazing  Car 
rington's  jaw,  the  big  man  understood  that  Taylor  was 
intent  on  beating  him  with  his  fists. 

Had  it  not  been  for  his  previous  encounter  with  Taylor, 


A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH 205 

Carrington  would  not  have  hesitated,  for  he  knew  how  to 
protect  himself  in  a  fight;  but  there  was  something  in 
Taylor's  eyes  now  to  add  to  the  memory  of  that  other 
fight,  and  Carrington  wanted  no  more  of  it. 

But  at  last  he  was  forced  to  stand.  Ducking  to  evade 
the  blow  aimed  at  his  jaw  when  he  tried  to  dart  out  of  the 
front  door,  he  slipped.  Reeling,  in  an  effort  to  regain  his 
equilibrium,  he  plunged  into  another  big  room.  It  was 
a  room  that  was  little  used  —  an  old-fashioned  parlor, 
kept  trim  and  neat  against  the  coming  of  visitors,  but  a 
room  whose  gloominess  the  occupants  of  the  house  usually 
avoided. 

The  shades  were  down,  partly  concealing  heavy  wooden 
blinds  —  which  were  closed.  And  the  only  light  in  the 
room  was  that  which  came  from  a  little  square  window 
high  up  in  the  side  wall. 

Before  Carrington  could  regain  his  balance  Taylor  had 
entered  the  room.  He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  placed 
his  back  against  it,  locked  it,  and  grinned  felinely  at  the 
big  man. 

"Your  men  are  coming,  Carrington,"  he  said — "hear 
them?"  In  the  silence  that  followed  his  words  both 
stood,  listening  to  the  beat  of  hoofs  near  the  house. 
:'  They'll  be  trying  to  get  in  here  in  a  minute,"  went  on 
Taylor.  "  But  before  they  get  in  I'm  going  to  knock  your 
head  off!"  And  without  further  warning  he  was  upon 
Carrington,  striking  bitteriy. 


206 THE  RANCHMAN 

It  seemed  to  Carrington  that  the  man  was  endowed 
with  a  savage  strength  entirely  out  of  proportion  to  his 
stature,  and  that  he  was  able  to  start  terrific,  deadening 
blows  from  any  angle.  For  though  Carrington  was  a 
strong  man  and  had  had  some  fighting  experience,  he 
could  neither  evade  Taylor's  blows  nor  stand  against 
the  impact  of  them. 

He  went  reeling  around  the  room  under  the  impetus 
of  Taylor's  terrible  rushes,  struggling  to  defend  himself, 
to  dodge,  to  clinch,  to  evade  somehow  the  fists  that  were 
flying  at  him  from  all  directions.  He  could  not  get  an 
instant's  respite  in  which  to  set  himself.  Three  times  in 
succession  he  was  knocked  down  so  heavily  that  the  house 
shook  with  the  crash  of  his  body  striking  the  floor,  and 
each  time  when  he  got  to  his  feet  he  tried  to  fight  Taylor 
off  in  an  endeavor  to  set  himself  for  a  blow.  But  he 
could  not.  He  was  knocked  against  the  walls  of  the  room, 
and  hammered  away  from  them  with  stiff,  jolty,  venom 
ous  blows  that  jarred  him  from  head  to  heels.  He  tried 
vainly  to  cover  up  —  with  his  arms  locked  about  his  head 
he  crouched  and  tried  to  rush  Taylor  off  his  feet,  knowing 
he  was  stronger  than  the  other,  and  that  his  only  hope 
was  in  clinching.  But  Taylor  held  him  off  with  savage 
uppercuts  and  terrific  short-arm  swings  that  smashed 
his  lips. 

He  began  to  mutter  in  a  whining,  vicious  monotone; 
twice  he  kicked  at  Taylor,  and  twice  he  was  knocked  down 


A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH 207 

as  a  punishment  for  his  foul  methods.  Finding  his  meth 
ods  ineffectual,  and  discovering  that  covering  his  face 
with  his  arms  did  not  materially  lessen  the  punishment  he 
was  receiving,  he  began  to  stand  up  straight,  taking  blows 
in  an  effort  to  land  one. 

But  Taylor  eluded  him;  Carrington's  blows  did  not 
land.  Raging  and  muttering,  roaring  with  impotent  pas 
sion,  he  whipped  the  air  with  his  arms,  almost  jerking 
them  out  of  their  sockets. 

Stiff  and  taut,  his  muscles  accommodating  themselves 
to  every  demand  he  made  on  them,  and  in  perfect  co 
ordination  with  his  brain  —  and  the  purpose  of  his  brain 
to  inflict  upon  Carrington  the  maximum  of  punishment 
for  his  dastardly  attack  on  Marion  Harlan  —  Taylor 
worked  fast  and  furiously.  For  he  heard  Carrington's 
three  men  in  the  next  room;  he  heard  them  try  the  door; 
heard  them  call  to  Carrington. 

And  then,  convinced  that  the  fight  must  be  ended 
quickly,  before  the  men  should  break  down  the  door  and 
have  him  at  a  disadvantage,  Taylor  finished  it.  He 
smothered  Carrington  with  a  succession  of  stiff-arm, 
straight  punches  that  glazed  the  other's  eyes  and  sent  him 
reeling  around  the  room.  And,  at  last,  over  in  a  corner 
near  the  little  window,  Carrington  went  down  flat  on  his 
back,  his  eyes  closed,  his  arms  flung  wide. 

Panting  from  his  exertions,  Taylor  drew  his  guns  and 
ran  to  one  of  the  front  windows.  They  opened  upon  the 


208 THE  RANCHMAN 

porch,  and,  peering  through  the  blinds,  Taylor  saw  one 
of  the  men  standing  at  one  of  the  windows,  trying  to  peer 
into  the  room.  The  other  two,  Taylor  knew,  were  at 
the  door  —  he  could  hear  them  talking  in  the  silence  that 
had  followed  the  final  falling  of  Carrington. 

With  a  gun  in  each  hand,  Taylor  approached  the  door. 
He  was  compelled  to  sheath  one  of  the  guns,  finding  that 
it  interfered  with  the  turning  of  the  key  in  the  lock ;  and 
he  had  sheathed  it  and  was  slowly  turning  the  key,  intend 
ing  to  throw  the  door  open  suddenly  and  take  his  chance 
with  the  two  men  on  the  other  side  of  it,  when  he  saw 
a  shadow  darken  the  little  window  above  where  Car 
rington  lay. 

He  wheeled  quickly,  saw  a  man's  face  at  the  window, 
caught  the  glint  of  a  pistol.  He  snapped  a  shot  at  the 
man,  swinging  his  gun  over  his  head  to  keep  it  from 
striking  the  door  as  he  turned.  But  at  the  movement 
the  man's  pistol  roared,  glass  tinkling  on  the  floor  with 
the  report.  The  air  in  the  room  rocked  with  the  explo 
sion  of  Taylor's  pistol,  but  a  heavy  blow  on  Taylor's  left 
shoulder,  accompanied  by  a  twinge  of  pain,  as  though  a 
white-hot  iron  had  suddenly  been  plunged  through  it, 
spoiled  Taylor's  aim,  and  his  bullet  went  into  the  ceiling. 
As  he  staggered  back  from  the  door  he  saw  the  man's 
face  at  the  window,  set  in  a  triumphant  grin.  Then,  as 
Taylor  flattened  against  the  wall  to  steady  himself  for 
another  shot,  the  face  disappeared. 


A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH 209 

For  an  instant  Taylor  rested  against  the  wall,  his  arms 
outstretched  along  it  to  keep  himself  from  falling,  for  the 
bullet  which  had  struck  him  had  hurt  him  badly.  The 
wound  was  in  the  left  shoulder,  though,  and  high,  and 
therefore  not  dangerous,  yet  he  knew  it  had  robbed  his 
left  arm  of  most  of  its  strength  —  there  was  no  feeling 
in  the  fingers  that  groped  along  the  wall. 

He  stepped  again  to  the  door  and  softly  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock.  He  heard  no  sound  in  the  room  beyond  the 
door,  and,  thinking  that  the  men,  curious  over  the  shoot 
ing,  had  gone  outside,  he  jerked  the  door  open. 

The  movement  was  greeted  with  deafening  report  and 
a  smoke-streak  that  blinded  Taylor  momentarily.  In  just 
the  instant  before  the  smoke-streak  Taylor  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  man  standing  near  the  center  of  the  room 
beyond  the  door,  and  though  he  was  rather  disconcerted 
by  the  powder-flash  and  the  searing  of  his  left  cheek  by 
a  bullet,  he  let  his  own  gun  off  twice  in  as  many  seconds, 
and  had  the  grim  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  man  stagger 
and  tumble  headlong  to  the  floor. 

Taylor  peered  once  at  the  man,  to  see  if  he  needed  fur 
ther  attention,  decided  he  did  not,  and  ran  toward  the 
front  door,  which  opened  upon  the  porch. 

He  was  just  in  time  to  see  one  of  Carrington's  men 
sticking  his  head  around  a  corner  of  the  house.  It  was 
the  man  who  had  shot  him  from  the  little  window.  Tay 
lor's  gun  and  the  man's  roared  simultaneously.  Taylor 


210 THE  RANCHMAN 

had  missed,  for  the  man  dodged  back,  and  Taylor  stag 
gered,  for  the  man's  bullet  had  struck  him  in  the  left 
thigh.  He  leaped,  though  limping,  toward  the  corner, 
and  when  almost  there  a  pistol  crashed  behind  him,  the 
bullet  hitting  his  left  shoulder,  near  where  the  other  had 
gone  in,  the  force  of  it  spinning  him  clear  around,  so 
that  he  reeled  and  brought  up  against  a  porch  column 
where  it  joined  the  rail. 

Grimly  setting  himself,  grinning  bitterly  with  the  real 
ization  that  the  men  had  him  between  them,  Taylor  stood 
momentarily,  fighting  to  overcome  the  terrible  weakness 
that  had  stolen  over  him.  His  knees  were  trembling,  the 
house,  trees,  and  sky  were  agitated  in  sickening  con 
volutions,  and  yet  when  he  saw  the  head  of  a  man  appear 
from  around  a  corner  of  the  house  at  his  right,  he  snapped 
a  shot  at  it,  and  instantly  as  it  was  withdrawn  he  staggered 
to  the  corner,  lurching  heavily  as  he  went,  and  turning 
just  as  he  reached  it  to  reply  to  a  shot  sent  at  him  from 
the  other  corner  of  the  house. 

A  smoke-spurt  met  him  as  he  reeled  around  the  corner 
nearest  him,  and  his  knees  sagged  as  he  aimed  his  gun 
at  a  blurring  figure  in  front  of  him.  He  saw  the  man  go 
down,  but  his  own  strength  was  spent,  and  he  knew  the 
last  bullet  had  struck  him  in  a  vital  spot. 

Staggering  drunkenly,  he  started  for  the  side  of  the 
house  and  brought  up  against  it  with  a  crash.  Again, 
as  he  had  done  inside  the  house,  he  stretched  his  arms 


A  FIGHT  TO  A  FINISH  211 

out,  flattening  himself  against  the  wall,  but  this  time  the 
arms  were  hanging  more  limply. 

He  was  seeing  things  through  a  crimson  haze,  and 
raising  a  hand,  he  wiped  his  eyes  —  and  could  see  better, 
though  there  was  a  queer  dimness  in  his  vision  and  the 
world  was  still  traveling  in  eccentric  circles. 

He  saw  a  blur  in  front  of  him  —  two  men,  he  thought, 
though  he  knew  he  had  accounted  for  two  of  the  three 
gunmen  who  had  followed  him  to  the  house.  Then  he 
heard  a  laugh  —  coarse  and  brutal  —  in  a  voice  that  he 
knew  —  Carrington's. 

With  heartbreaking  effort  he  brought  up  his  right  hand, 
bearing  the  pistol.  He  was  trying  to  swing  it  around 
to  bring  it  to  bear  upon  one  of  the  two  dancing  figures  in 
front  of  him,  when  a  crushing  blow  landed  on  his  head, 
and  he  knew  one  of  the  men  had  struck  him  with  a  fist. 
He  felt  his  own  weapon  go  off  at  last  —  it  seemed  he  had 
been  an  age  pressing  on  the  trigger  —  and  he  heard  a 
voice  again  —  Carrington's  —  saying :  "  Damn  him ;  he's 
shot  me ! "  He  laughed  aloud  as  a  gun  roared  close  to 
him;  he  felt  another  twinge  of  pain  somewhere  around 
where  the  other  twinges  had  come  —  or  on  the  other 
side  —  he  did  not  know;  and  he  sank  slowly,  still  pressing 
the  trigger  of  his  pistol,  though  not  knowing  whether 
or  not  he  was  doing  any  damage.  And  then  the  eccen 
trically  whirling  world  became  a  black  blur,  soundless  and 
void. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  MAN  FACES  DEATH 

TAYLOR'S  last  shot,  when  he  had  been  automatically 
pressing  the  trigger  after  Carrington  had  struck 
him  viciously  with  his  fist,  had  brought  down  the  last  of 
the  three  men  who  had  ambushed  him.  And  one  of  his 
last  bullets  had  struck  Carrington,  who  had  recovered 
consciousness  and  staggered  out  of  the  house  in  time  to 
see  the  end  of  the  fight.  And  the  big  man,  in  a  black, 
malignant  fury  of  hatred,  was  staggering  toward  Taylor, 
lifting  a  foot  to  kick  him,  when  from  the  direction  of  the 
clearing  in  front  of  the  house  came  a  voice,  hoarse  and 
vibrant  with  a  cold,  deadly  rage  : 

"  One  kick  an'  I  blow  the  top  of  your  head  off ! " 

Carrington  stopped  short  and  wheeled,  to  face  Ben 
Mullarky. 

The  Irishman's  eyes  were  blazing  with  wrath,  and  as 
he  came  forward,  peering  at  the  figures  lying  on  the 
ground  near  the  house,  Carrington  retreated,  holding  up 
his  hands. 

"Three  of  ye  pilin'  on  one,  eh?"  said  Mullarky  as  he 
looked  down  at  Taylor,  huddled  against  the  side  of 
the  house.  "An'  ye  got  him,  too,  didn't  ye?  I've  a 

212 


A  MAN  FACES  DEATH  213 

domn  big  notion  to  blow  the  top  of  your  head  off, 
anny  way.  Ye  slope,  ye  big  limb  of  the  diwle,  or  I'll 
doit!" 

Mullarky  watched  while  Carrington  mounted  his  horse 
and  rode  up  the  river  trail  toward  Dawes,  and  the  instant 
Carrington  was  out  of  sight,  Mullarky  was  down  on  his 
knees  beside  Taylor,  taking  a  lightning  inventory  of  his 
wounds. 

"Four  of  them,  looks  like!"  he  mutterd  thickly,  his 
voice  shaking  with  pity  for  the  slack,  limp,  smoke-black 
ened  figure  that  lay  silent,  the  trace  of  a  smile  on  its  face. 
"An'  two  of  them  through  the  shoulder!"  He  paused, 
awed.  "Lord,  what  a  shindy!" 

Then,  swiftly  gulping  down  his  sympathy  and  his  rage, 
Mullarky  ran  to  his  horse,  which  he  had  left  at  the  edge  of 
the  wood  when  he  had  heard  the  shooting.  He  led  the 
animal  back  to  where  Taylor  lay,  tenderly  lifted  Taylor 
in  his  arms,  walked  to  the  horse,  and  after  much  labor 
got  Taylor  up  in  front  of  him  on  the  horse,  Taylor's 
weight  resting  on  his  legs,  the  man's  head  and  shoulders 
resting  against  him,  to  ease  the  jars  of  the  journey. 

Then  he  started,  traveling  as  swiftly  as  possible  down 
the  big  slope  toward  his  own  house,  not  so  very  far  away. 

Spotted  Tail,  jealously  watching  his  master,  saw  him 
lifted  to  the  back  of  the  other  horse.  Shrewdly  suspecting 
that  all  was  not  going  well,  and  that  his  master  would  need 
him  presently,  Spotted  Tail  trotted  after  Mullarky. 


2U THE  RANCHMAN 

In  this  manner,  with  Spotted  Tail  a  few  paces  in  his 
rear,  Mullarky,  still  tenderly  carrying  his  burden,  reached 
his  cabin. 

He  stilled  Mrs.  Mullarky's  hysterical  questions  with  a 
short  command: 

"  Hitch  up  the  buckboard  while  I'm  gettin'  him  in 
shape!" 

And  then,  while  Mrs.  Mullarky  did  as  she  was  bidden, 
Mullarky  carried  Taylor  inside  the  cabin,  bathed  his 
wounds,  stanching  the  flow  of  blood  as  best  he  could  — 
and  came  out  again,  carrying  Taylor,  and  placed  him  in 
the  bed  of  the  light  spring-wagon,  upon  some  quilts  — 
and  upon  a  pillow  that  Mrs.  Mullarky  ran  into  the  house 
to  get,  emerging  with  the  reproach: 

"  You'd  be  lettin'  him  ride  on  them  hard  boards ! " 

Following  Mullarky's  instructions,  Mrs.  Mullarky 
climbed  to  the  driver's  seat  and  sent  the  buckboard  to 
ward  the  Arrow,  driving  as  fast  as  she  thought  she  dared. 
And  Ben  Mullarky,  on  Spotted  Tail,  turned  his  face 
toward  Dawes,  riding  as  he  had  never  ridden  before. 

Parsons  had  reached  the  Arrow  shortly  after  Taylor 
had  departed  for  Dawes.  The  man  had  stopped  at  the 
Mullarky  cabin  to  inquire  the  way  from  the  lady,  and 
she  had  frankly  commented  upon  Parsons'  battered 
appearance. 

"  So  it  was  Carrington  that  mauled  you,  eh  ?  "  she  said. 


A  MAN  FACES  DEATH 215 

"Well,  he's  a  mighty  evil  man — the  divvle  take  his 
sowl ! " 

Parsons  concurred  in  this  view  of  Carrington,  though 
he  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Mullarky  so.  He  went  on  his  way, 
refusing  the  good  woman's  proffer  of  a  horse,  for  he 
wanted  to  go  afoot  to  the  Arrow.  He  felt  sure  of  Mar 
ion's  sympathy,  but  he  wanted  to  make  himself  as  pitiable 
an  object  as  possible.  And  as  he  walked  toward  the 
Arrow  he  mentally  dramatized  the  moment  of  his  appear 
ance  at  the  ranchhouse  —  a  bruised  and  battered  figure 
dragging  itself  wearily  forward,  dusty,  thirst-tortured, 
and  despairing.  He  knew  that  spectacle  would  win  the 
girl's  swift  sympathy.  The  fact  that  the  girl  herself  had 
bem  through  almost  the  same  experience  did  not  affect 
him  at  all  —  he  did  not  even  think  of  it. 

And  when  Parsons  reached  the  Arrow  the  scene  was 
even  as  he  had  dreamed  it  —  Marion  Harlan  had  seen 
him  from  afar,  and  came  running  to  him,  placing  an  arm 
about  him,  helping  him  forward,  whispering  words  of 
sympathy  in  his  ears,  so  that  Parsons  really  began  to  look 
upon  himself  as  a  badly  abused  martyr. 

Marion  cared  for  him  tenderly,  once  she  got  him  into 
the  ranchhouse.  She  bathed  his  bruised  face,  prepared 
breakfast  for  him,  and  later,  learning  from  him  that  he 
had  not  slept  during  the  night,  she  sent  him  off  to  bed, 
asking  him  as  he  went  into  the  room  if  he  had  seen  Ben 
Mullarky. 


216 THE  RANCHMAN 

"For,"  she  added,  "he  came  here  early  this  morning, 
after  Mr.  Taylor  left,  and  I  sent  him  to  the  big  house  to 
get  some  things  for  me." 

But  Parsons  had  not  seen  Mullarky. 

And  at  last,  when  the  morning  was  nearly  gone,  and 
Marion  saw  a  horse-drawn  vehicle  approaching  the  Arrow 
from  the  direction  of  Dawes,  she  ran  out,  thinking  Ben 
Mullarky  had  brought  her  "things"  in  his  buckboard. 
But  it  was  not  Ben  who  was  coming,  but  Mrs.  Mullarky. 
The  lady's  face  was  very  white  and  serious,  and  when 
the  girl  came  close  and  she  saw  the  look  on  the  good 
woman's  face,  she  halted  in  her  tracks  and  stood  rigid, 
her  own  face  paling. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Mullarky,  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Enough,  deary."  Mrs.  Mullarky  waved  an  eloquent 
hand  toward  the  rear  of  the  buckboard,  and  slowly  ap 
proaching,  the  girl  saw  the  huddled  figure  lying  there, 
swathed  in  quilts. 

She  drew  her  breath  sharply,  and  with  pallid  face, 
swaying  a  little,  she  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  buckboard 
and  stood,  holding  hard  to  the  rim  of  a  wheel,  looking 
down  at  Taylor's  face  with  its  closed  eyes  and  its  ghastly 
color. 

She  must  have  screamed,  then,  for  she  felt  Mrs.  Mul- 
larky's  arms  around  her,  and  she  heard  the  lady's  voice, 
saying:  "  Don't,  deary;  he  ain't  dead,  yet  —  an'  he  won't 
die  —  we  won't  let  him  die." 


A  MAN  FACES  DEATH 217 

She  stood  there  by  the  buckboard  for  a  time  —  until 
Mrs.  Mullarky,  running  to  one  of  the  outbuildings,  re 
turned  with  Bud  Hemmingway.  Then,  nerved  to  the 
ordeal  by  Bud's  businesslike  methods,  and  the  awful  pro 
fanity  that  gushed  from  his  clenched  teeth,  she  helped 
them  carry  Taylor  into  the  house. 

They  took  Taylor  into  his  own  room  and  laid  him  on 
the  bed;  a  long,  limp  figure,  pitifully  shattered,  lying 
very  white  and  still. 

The  girl  stayed  in  the  room  while  Mrs.  Mullarky  and 
Bud  ran  hither  and  thither  getting  water,  cloths,  stimu 
lants,  and  other  indispensable  articles.  And  during  one 
of  their  absences  the  girl  knelt  beside  the  bed,  and  resting 
her  head  close  to  Taylor's  —  with  her  hands  stroking  his 
blackened  face  —  she  whispered: 

"O  Lord,  save  him  —  save  him  for  —  for  me!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

LOOKING  FOR  TROUBLE 

BEFORE  night  the  Arrow  outfit,  led  by  Bothwell, 
the  range  boss,  came  into  the  ranchhouse.  For  the 
news  had  reached  them  —  after  the  manner  in  which  all 
news  travels  in  the  cow-country  —  by  word  of  mouth  — 
and  they  had  come  in  —  all  those  who  could  be  spared  — 
to  determine  the  truth  of  the  rumor. 

There  were  fifteen  of  them,  rugged,  capable-looking 
fellows;  and  despite  the  doctor's  objections,  they  filed 
singly,  though  noiselessly,  into  Taylor's  room  and  silently 
looked  down  upon  their  "  boss."  Marion,  watching  them 
from  a  corner  of  the  room,  noted  their  quick  gulps  of 
pity,  their  grim  faces,  the  savage  gleams  that  came  into 
their  eyes,  and  she  knew  they  were  thinking  of  vengeance 
upon  the  men  who  had  wrought  the  injury  to  their 
employer. 

Bothwell  —  big,  grim,  and  deliberate  of  manner  —  said 
nothing  as  he  looked  down  into  his  chief's  face.  But 
later,  outside  the  house,  listening  to  Bud  Hemmingway's 
recital  of  how  Taylor  had  been  brought  to  the  ranchhouse, 
Bothwell  said  shortly : 

"I'mtakin'alook!" 

218 


LOOKING  FOR  TROUBLE 219 

Shortly  afterward,  followed  by  every  man  of  the  outfit 
who  had  ridden  in  with  him,  Bothwell  crossed  the  big 
basin  and  sent  his  horse  up  the  long  slope  to  the  big  house. 

Outside  they  came  upon  the  bodies  of  the  two  men 
with  whom  Taylor  had  fought.  And  inside  the  house 
they  saw  the  other  huddled  on  the  floor  near  a  door  in  the 
big  front  room.  Silently  the  men  filed  through  the  house, 
looking  into  all  the  rooms,  and  noting  the  wreck  and  ruin 
that  had  been  wrought.  They  saw  the  broken  glass  of 
the  little  window  through  which  one  of  Carrington's  men 
had  fired  the  first  shot;  they  noted  the  hole  in  the  ceiling 
*—  caused  by  a  bullet  from  Taylor's  pistol ;  and  they  saw 
another  hole  in  the  wall  near  the  door  beside  which  Taylor 
had  been  standing  just  before  he  had  swung  the  door  open. 

"Three  of  them  —  an'  Carrington  —  accordin'  to  what 
Bud  says,"  said  Bothwell.  "That's  four."  He  smiled 
bitterly.  "They  got  him  all  right  —  almost,  I  reckon. 
But  from  the  looks  of  things  they  must  have  had  a  roarin' 
picnic  doin'  it ! " 

Not  disturbing  anything,  the  entire  outfit  mounted  and 
rode  swiftly  down  the  Dawes  trail,  their  hearts  swelling 
with  sympathy  for  Taylor  and  passionate  hatred  for  Car 
rington,  "itching  for  a  clean-up,"  as  one  sullen-looking 
member  of  the  outfit  described  his  feelings. 

But  there  was  no  "clean-up."  When  they  reached 
Dawes  they  found  the  town  quiet — and  men  who  saw 
them  gave  them  plenty  of  room  and  f  orebore  to  argue  with 


220 THE  RANCHMAN 

them.  For  it  was  known  that  they  were  reckless,  hardy 
spirits  when  the  mood  came  upon  them,  and  that  they 
worshiped  Taylor. 

And  so  they  entered  Dawes,  and  Davves  treated  them 
with  respect.  Passing  the  city  hall,  they  noticed  some 
men  grouped  in  front  of  the  building,  and  they  halted, 
Bothwell  dismounting  and  entering. 

"What's  the  gang  collectin'  for?"  he  asked  a  man  — 
whom  he  knew  for  Dan  forth.  There  was  a  belligerent 
thrust  to  Bothwell's  chin,  and  a  glare  in  his  eyes  that, 
Dan  forth  felt,  must  be  met  with  diplomacy. 

"  There's  been  trouble  at  the  Huggins  house,  and  I'm 
sending  these  men  to  investigate." 

"  Give  them  diggin'  tools,"  said  Bothwell  grimly.  "An' 
remember  this  —  if  there's  any  more  herd-ridin'  of  our 
boss  the  Arrow  outfit  is  startin'  a  private  graveyard ! " 
He  pinned  the  mayor  with  a  cold  glare:  "Where's 
Carrington?" 

"In  his  rooms  —  under  a  doctor's  care.  He's  hit  — 
bad.  A  bullet  in  his  side." 

"  Ought  to  be  in  his  gizzard ! "  growled  Bothwell.  He 
went  out,  mounted,  and  led  his  men  away.  They  were 
reluctant  to  leave  town,  but  Bothwell  was  insistent. 
'They  ain't  no  fight  in  that  bunch  of  plug-uglies!"  he 
scoffed.  "  We'll  go  back  an'  'tend  to  business,  an'  pull 
for  the  boss  to  get  well ! " 

And  so  they  returned  to  the  Arrow,  to  find  that  the 


LOOKING  FOR  TROUBLE 221 

Dawes  doctor  was  still  with  Taylor.  The  doctor  sent  out 
word  to  them  that  there  was  a  slight  chance  for  his  pa 
tient,  and  satisfied  that  they  had  done  all  they  could,  they 
rode  away,  to  attend  to  "business." 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Marion  Harlan  was  wit 
nessing  the  fight  of  a  strong  man  to  live  despite  grievous 
wounds  that,  she  was  certain,  would  have  instantly  killed 
most  men.  But  Taylor  fought  his  fight  unconsciously, 
for  he  was  still  in  that  deep  coma  that  had  descended 
upon  him  when  he  had  gently  slipped  to  the  ground  beside 
the  house,  still  fighting,  still  scorning  the  efforts  of  his 
enemies  to  finish  him. 

And  during  the  first  night's  fever  he  still  fought;  the 
powerful  sedatives  administered  by  the  doctor  had  little 
effect.  In  his  delirium  he  muttered  such  terms  and 
phrases  as  these:  "Run,  damn  you  —  run!  I  ain't  in 
any  hurry,  and  I'll  get  you!"  And  —  "I'll  certainly 
smash  you  some!"  And  —  "A  'thing,'  eh  —  I'll  show 
you !  She's  mine,  you  miserable  whelp  1 " 

Whether  these  were  thoughts,  or  whether  they  wer^ 
memories  of  past  utterances,  made  vivid  and  brought  into 
the  present  by  the  fever,  the  girl  did  not  know.  She  sat 
beside  his  bed  all  night,  with  the  doctor  near  her,  waiting 
and  watching  and  listening. 

And  she  heard  more:  "That's  Larry's  girl,  and  it's 
up  to  me  to  protect  her."  And  —  "I  knew  sfee'd  look  Ittce 


222    THE  RANCHMAN 

that."  Also  — "They're  both  tryin'  to  send  her  to  hell! 
But  I'll  fool  them ! "  At  these  times  there  was  ineffable 
tenderness  in  his  voice.  But  at  times  he  broke  out  in 
terrible  wrath.  "Ambush  me,  eh?  Ha,  ha!  That  was 
right  clever  of  you,  Spotted  Tail  —  we  didn't  make  a 
good  target,  did  we?  Only  for  your  sense  we'd 
have  —  "  He  ceased,  to  begin  anew :  "I've  got  you  — 
damn  you ! "  And  then  he  would  try  to  sit  erect,  swinging 
his  arms  as  though  he  were  trying  to  hit  someone. 

But  toward  morning  he  fell  into  a  fitful  sleep  —  the 
sleep  of  exhaustion;  and  when  the  dawn  came,  Mrs.  Mul- 
larky  ordered  the  girl,  pale  and  wan  from  her  night's 
vigilance  and  service,  to  "  go  to  bed." 

For  three  days  it  was  the  same.  And  for  three  days 
the  doctor  stayed  at  the  side  of  the  patient,  only  sleeping 
when  Miss  Harlan  watched  over  Taylor. 

And  during  the  three  days'  vigil,  Taylor's  delirium 
lasted.  The  girl  learned  more  of  his  character  during 
those  three  days  of  constant  watchfulness  than  she  would 
have  learned  in  as  many  years  otherwise.  That  he  was 
honorable  and  courageous,  she  knew ;  but  that  he  was  so 
sincerely  apprehensive  over  her  welfare  she  had  never 
suspected.  For  she  learned  through  his  ravings  that  he 
had  fought  Carrington  and  the  three  men  for  her;  that 
he  had  deliberately  sought  Carrington  to  punish  him  for 
the  attack  on  her,  and  that  he  had  not  considered  his  own 
danger  at  all. 


LOOKING  FOR  TROUBLE 223 

And  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  day,  when  he  opened 
liis  eyes  and  stared  wonderingly  about  the  room,  his  gaze 
at  first  resting  upon  the  doctor,  and  then  traveling  to  the 
girl's  face,  and  remaining  there  for  a  long  time,  while  a 
faint  smile  wreathed  his  lips,  the  girl's  heart  beat  high 
with  delight. 

"Well,  I'm  still  a  going  it,"  he  said  weakly. 

"I  remember,"  he  went  on,  musingly.  "When  they 
was  handing  it  to  me,  I  was  thinking  that  I  was  in  pretty 
bad  shape.  And  then  they  must  have  handed  it  to  me 
some  more,  for  I  quit  thinking  at  all.  I'm  going  to  pull 
through  —  ain't  I?" 

"You  are!"  declared  the  doctor.  "That  is,"  he 
amended,  "if  you  keep  your  trap  shut  and  do  a  lot  of 
sleeping." 

"For  which  I'm  going  to  have  a  lot  of  time,"  smiled 
Taylor.  "  I'm  going  to  sleep,  for  I  feel  mighty  like  sleep 
ing.  But  before  I  do  any  sleeping,  there's  a  thing  I  want 
to  know.  Did  Carrington's  men  —  the  last  two  —  get 
away,  or  did  I " 

"You  did,"  grinned  the  doctor.  "Bothwell  rode  over 
there  to  find  out  —  and  Mullarky  saw  them.  Mullarky 
brought  you  back  —  and  got  me." 

"  Carrington  ?  "  inquired  the  patient. 

"  Mullarky  saw  him.  He  says  he  never  saw  a  man  so 
beat  up  in  his  life.  Besides,  you  shot  him,  too  —  in  the 
side.  Not  dangerous,  but  a  heap  painful." 


224 THE  RANCHMAN 

Taylor  smiled  and  looked  at  Miss  Harlan.  "I  knew 
you  were  here,"  he  said;  "I've  felt  you  near  me.  It  was 
mighty  comforting,  and  I  want  to  thank  you  for  it  There 
were  times  when  I  must  have  shot  off  my  mouth  a  heap. 
If  I  said  anything  I  shouldn't  have  said,  I'm  a  whole  lot 
sorry.  And  I'm  asking  your  pardon." 

"You  didn't,"  she  said,  her  eyes  eloquent  with  joy 
over  the  improvement  in  him. 

"  Well,  then,  I'm  going  to  sleep."  He  raised  his  right 
hand  —  his  good  one  —  and  waved  it  gayly  at  them — • 
and  closed  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  WORLD-OLD  LONGING 

L3OKING  back  upon  the  long  period  of  Taylor's 
convalescence,  Marion  Harlan  could  easily  under 
stand  why  she  had  surrendered  to  the  patient. 

In  the  first  place,  she  had  liked  Taylor  from  the  very; 
beginning — even  when  she  had  affected  to  ridicule  him 
on  the  train  coming  toward  Dawes.  She  had  known  all 
along  that  she  had  liked  him,  and  on  that  morning  when 
she  had  visited  the  Arrow  to  ask  about  her  father  Taylor 
had  woven  a  magnetic  spell  about  her. 

That  meeting  and  the  succeeding  ones  had  merely 
strengthened  her  liking  for  him.  But  the  inevitable  inti 
macy  between  nurse  and  patient  during  several  long  weeks 
of  convalescence  had  wrought  havoc  with  her  heart. 

Taylor's  unfailing  patience  and  good  humor  had  been 
another  factor  in  bringing  about  her  surrender.  It  was 
hard  for  her  to  believe  that  he  had  fought  a  desperate 
battle  which  had  resulted  in  the  death  of  three  men  and 
the  wounding  of  Carrington  and  himself;  for  there  were 
no  savage  impulses  or  passions  gleaming  in  the  eyes  that 
(followed  her  every  movement  while  she  had  been  busy 
In  the  skkroom  for  some  weeks.  Nor  could  she  see  any 

225 


226 THE  RANCHMAN 

lingering  threat  in  them,  promising  more  violence  upon 
his  recovery.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  there 
had  been  a  fight,  and  during  the  weeks  that  she  had  been 
close  to  him  he  had  not  even  mentioned  it.  He  had  been 
content,  it  seemed,  to  lounge  in  a  chair  and  listen  to  her 
while  she  read,  to  watch  her;  and  there  had  been  times 
when  she  had  seen  a  glow  in  his  eyes  that  told  her  things 
that  she  longed  to  hear  him  say. 

The  girl's  surrender  had  not  been  conveyed  to  Taylor 
in  words,  though  she  was  certain  he  knew  of  it;  for  the 
signs  of  it  must  have  been  visible,  since  she  could  feel 
the  blushes  in  her  cheeks  at  times  when  a  word  or  a  look 
passing  between  them  was  eloquent  with  the  proof  of  her 
aroused  emotions. 

It  was  on  a  morning  about  six  weeks  following  the 
incident  of  the  shooting  that  she  and  Taylor  had  walked 
to  the  river.  Upon  a  huge  flat  rock  near  the  edge  of  a 
slight  promontory  they  seated  themselves,  Taylor  turned 
slightly,  so  that  she  had  only  a  profile  view  of  him. 

Taylor's  thoughts  were  grave.  For  from  where  he  and 
the  girl  sat —  far  beyond  the  vast  expanse  of  green-brown 
grass  that  carpeted  the  big  level  —  he  could  see  a  huge 
cleft  in  some  mountains.  And  the  sight  of  that  cleft  sent 
Taylor's  thoughts  leaping  back  to  the  days  he  and  Larry  ' 
Harlan  had  spent  in  these  mountains,  searching  for  —  and 
finding  —  that  gold  for  which  they  had  come.  And  in 
evitably  as  the  contemplation  of  the  mountains  brought 


A  WORLD-OLD  LONGING 227 

him  recollections  of  Larry  Harlan  he  was  reminded  of  his 
obligation  to  his  old-time  partner.  And  the  difficulties  of 
discharging  that  obligation  were  increasing,  it  seemed. 

At  least,  Taylor's  duty  was  not  quite  clear  to  him. 
For  while  Parsons  still  retained  a  place  in  the  girl's  affec 
tions  he  could  not  turn  over  to  her  Larry's  share  of  the 
money  he  had  received  from  the  sale  of  the  mine. 

And  Parsons  did  retain  the  girl's  affections  —  likewise 
her  confidence  and  trust.  A  man  must  be  blind  who  could 
not  see  that.  For  the  girl  looked  after  him  as  any  dutiful 
girl  might  care  for  a  father  she  loved.  Her  attitude 
toward  the  man  puzzled  Taylor,  for,  he  assured  himself, 
if  she  would  but  merely  study  the  man's  face  perfunc 
torily  she  could  not  have  failed  to  see  the  signs  of  deceit 
and  hypocrisy  in  it.  All  of  which  convinced  Taylor  of 
the  truth  of  the  old  adage :  "  Love  is  blind." 

One  other  influence  which  dissuaded  Taylor  from  an 
impulse  to  turn  over  Larry's  money  to  the  girl  was  his 
determination  to  win  her  on  his  own  merits.  That  might 
have  seemed  selfishness  on  his  part,  but  now  that  the  girl 
was  at  the  Arrow  he  could  see  that  she  was  well  supplied 
with  everything  she  needed.  Her  legacy  would  not  buy 
her  more  than  he  would  give  her  gratuitously.  And  he 
did  not  want  her  to  think  for  a  single  moment  he  was 
trying  to  buy  her  love.  That,  to  his  mind  was  gross 
commercialism. 

Marion  was  not  looking  at  the  mountains;  she  was 


THE  RANCHMAN 


watching  Taylor's  profile  —  and  blushing  over  thoughts 
that  came  to  her. 

For  she  wished  that  she  might  have  met  him  under 
different  conditions  —  upon  a  basis  of  equality.  And 
that  was  not  the  basis  upon  which  they  stood  now.  She 
had  come  to  the  Arrow  because  she  had  no  other  place  to 
go,  vindicating  her  action  upon  Taylor's  declaration  that 
he  had  been  her  father's  friend. 

That  had  been  a  tangible  premise,  and  was  sufficient  to 
satisfy,  or  to  dull,  any  surface  scruples  he  might  hare 
had  regarding  the  propriety  of  the  action.  But  her  ovrn 
moral  sense  struck  deeper  than  that.  She  felt  she  had 
no  right  to  be  here;  that  Taylor  had  made  the  offer  of  a 
partnership  out  of  charity.  And  so  long  as  she  stayed 
here,  dependent  upon  him  for  food  and  shelter,  she  could 
not  permit  him  to  speak  a  word  of  love  to  her  —  much 
as  she  wanted  him  to  speak  it.  Such  was  the  puritanical 
principle  driven  deep  into  the  moral  fabric  of  her  char 
acter  by  a  mother  who  had  set  her  a  bad  example. 

This  man  had  fought  for  her;  he  had  risked  his  life 
to  punish  a  man  who  had  wronged  her  in  thought,  only; 
and  she  knew  he  loved  her.  And  yet,  seated  so  near  him, 
she  could  not  put  out  the  hand  that  longed  to  touch 
him. 

However,  her  thoughts  were  not  tragic  —  far  from  it  ! 
[Youth  is  hopeful  because  it  has  so  long  to  wait.  And 
there  was  in  her  heart  at  this  moment  a  presentiment  that 


A  WORLD-OLD  LONGING 229 

time  would  sever  the  bonds  of  propriety  that  held  her. 
And  the  instincts  of  her  sex  —  though  never  having  been 
tested  in  the  arts  of  coquetry — told  her  how  to  keep  his 
heart  warm  toward  her  until  that  day,  having  achieved 
her  independence,  she  could  meet  him  on  a  basis  of 
equality. 

"Mr.  Squint,"  she  suddenly  demanded;  "what  are  you 
thinking  about  ?  " 

He  turned  and  looked  full  at  her,  his  eyes  glowing 
with  a  grave  humor. 

"I'd  tell  you  if  I  thought  you'd  listen  to  me,"  he 
returned,  significantly.  "  But  it  seems  that  every  time  I 
get  on  that  subject  you  poke  fun  at  me.  Is  there  anything 
I  can  do  to  show  you  that  I  love  you  —  that  I  want  you 
more  than  any  man  erer  wanted  a  woman?  " 

"Yes  —  there  is."    Her  smile  was  tantalizing. 

"  Name  it ! "  he  demanded,  eagerly. 

"  Stop  being  tragic.  I  don't  like  you  when  you  are 
tragic  —  or  when  you  are  talking  nonsense  about  love. 
I  have  heard  so  much  of  it!" 

"  From  me,  I  suppose?  "  he  said,  gloomily. 

He  had  turned  his  head  and  she  shot  a  quick,  eloquent 
glance  at  him.  "From  you — and  several  others,"  she 
said,  deliberately. 

There  was  a  resentful,  hurt  look  in  his  eyes  when  he 
turned  and  looked  at  her.  "Just  how  many?"  he  de 
manded,  somewhat  gruffly. 


230 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  Jealous ! "  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  at  him.  "  Do 
you  want  a  bill  of  particulars?  Because  if  you  do,"  she 
added,  looking  demurely  downward,  "I  should  have  to 
take  several  days  to  think  it  over.  You  see,  a  woman 
can't  catalogue  everything  men  say  to  her  —  for  they  say 
so  many  silly  things !  " 

"Love  isn't  silly,"  he  declared.  He  looked  rather 
fiercely  at  her.  "  What  kind  of  a  man  do  you  like  best  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

She  blushed.  "I  like  a  big  man  —  about  as  big  as 
you,"  she  said.  "A  man  with  fierce  eyes  that  glower  at 
a  woman  when  she  talks  to  him  of  love  —  she  insisting 
that  she  hasn't  quite  fallen  in  love  —  with  him.  I  like  a 
man  who  is  jealous  of  the  reputation  of  the  woman  he 
professes  to  love;  a  man  who  is  jealous  of  other  men;  a 
man  who  isn't  so  very  good-looking,  but  who  is  a  hand 
some  man  for  all  that  —  because  he  is  so  very  manly;  a 
man  who  will  fight  and  risk  his  life  for  me." 

"  Could  you  name  such  a  man  ?  "  he  said.  There  was  a 
scornful  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  looking  at  him  this  minute ! "  she  said. 

Grinning,  for  he  knew  all  along  that  she  had  been  talk 
ing  of  him,  he  wheeled  quickly  and  tried  to  catch  her  in 
his  arms.  But  she  slipped  off  the  rock  and  was  around 
on  the  other  side  of  it,  keeping  it  between  them  while  he 
tried  to  catch  her.  Instinctively  he  realized  that  the 
chase  was  hopeless,  but  he  persisted. 


A  WORLD-OLD  LONGING  231 

"  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again  if  you  catch  me ! "  she 
warned,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"But  you  told  me  - 

"  That  I  liked  you,"  she  interrupted.  "And  liking  a 
man  isn't " 

And  then  she  paused  and  looked  down,  blushing,  while 
Taylor,  in  the  act  of  vaulting  over  the  rock,  collapsed  and 
sat  on  it  instead,  red  of  face  and  embarrassed. 

For  within  a  dozen  paces  of  them,  and  looking  rather 
embarrassed  and  self-conscious,  himself,  though  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  made  Taylor's  cheeks  turn  redder 
—  was  Bud  Hemmingway. 

"I'm  beggin'  your  pardon,"  said  the  puncher;  "but 
I've  come  to  tell  you  that  Neil  Norton  is  here  —  again. 
He's  been  settin'  on  the  porch  for  an  hour  or  two  —  he 
says.  But  I  think  he's  stretching  it.  Anyway,  he's  tired 
of  waitin'  for  you  —  he  says  —  an'  he's  been  wonderin' 
if  you  was  goin'  to  set  on  that  boulder  all  day !  " 

Taylor  slipped  off  the  rock  and  started  toward  Bud, 
feigning  resentment. 

Bud,  his  face  agitated  by  a  broad  grin,  deliberately 
winked  at  Miss  Harlan  —  though  he  spoke  to  Taylor. 

"I'd  be  a  little  careful  about  how  I  went  to  jumpin 
off  boulders  —  you  might  bust  your  ankle  again!" 

And  then  Taylor  grinned  at  Miss  Harlan  —  who  pre 
tended  a  severity  she  did  not  feel;  while  Bud,  cackling 
mirthfully,  went  toward  the  ranchhouse. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  DEATH  WARRANT 

CARRINGTON  was  not  a  coward ;  he  was  not  even 
a  cautious  man.  And  the  bitter  malice  that  filled 
his  heart,  together  with  riotous  impulses  that  seethed  in 
his  brain  prompted  him  to  go  straight  to  the  Arrow, 
wreak  vengeance  upon  Taylor  and  drag  Marion  Harlan 
back  to  the  big  house  he  had  bought  for  her. 

But  a  certain  memory  of  Taylor's  face  when  the  latter 
had  been  pursuing  him  through  the  big  house;  a  knowl 
edge  of  Taylor's  ability  to  inflict  punishment,  together 
with  a  divination  that  Taylor  would  not  hesitate  to  kill 
him  should  there  arise  the  slightest  opportunity  —  all 
these  considerations  served  to  deter  Carrington  from 
undertaking  any  rash  action. 

Taylor's  opposition  to  his  desires  enraged  Carrington. 
He  had  met  and  conquered  many  men  —  and  he  had  coolly 
and  deliberately  robbed  many  others,  himself  standing 
secure  and  immune  behind  legal  barriers.  And  he  had 
seen  his  victims  writhe  and  squirm  and  struggle  in  the 
meshes  he  had  prepared  for  them.  He  had  heard  them 
rave  and  wail  and  threaten;  but  not  one  of  them  had 
attempted  to  inflict  physical  punishment  upon  him. 

232 


233 


Taylor,  however,  was  of  the  fighting  type.  On  two 
occasions,  now,  Carrington  had  been  given  convincing 
proof  of  the  man's  ability.  And  he  had  seen  in  Taylor's 
eyes  on  the  latest  occasion  the  implacable  gleam  of  iron 
resolution  and  —  when  Taylor  had  gone  down,  fighting 
to  the  last,  in  the  sanguinary  battle  at  the  big  house,  he 
had  not  failed  to  note  the  indomitability  of  the  man  — 
the  tenacious  and  dogged  spirit  that  knows  no  defeat  — 
a  spirit  that  would  not  be  denied. 

And  so,  though  Carrington's  desires  would  have  led 
him  to  recklessly  carry  the  fight  to  the  Arrow,  certain 
dragging  qualms  of  reluctance  dissuaded  him  from  an 
other  meeting  with  Taylor  on  equal  terms. 

And  yet  the  malevolent  passions  that  gripped  the  big" 
man  would  not  tolerate  the  thought  of  opposition.  Taylor 
was  the  only  man  who  stood  between  him  and  his  desires, 
and  Taylor  must  be  removed. 

During  the  days  of  Carrington's  confinement  to  his 
rooms  above  the  Castle  —  awaiting  the  slow  healing  of 
the  wound  Taylor  had  inflicted  upon  him,  and  the  many 
bruises  that  marred  his  face  —  mementoes  of  the  terrible 
punishment  Taylor  had  inflicted  upon  him  —  the  big  man 
nursed  his  venomous  thoughts  and  laid  plans  for  revenge 
upon  his  enemy. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  appear  in  Dawes  —  to  un 
dergo  without  humiliation  the  inspection  of  his  face  b)r 
the  citizens  of  the  town — for  news  of  his  punishment 


234 THE  RANCHMAN 

had  been  whispered  broadcast  —  he  boarded  a  westbound 
train. 

He  got  off  at  Nogel,  a  little  mining  town  sitting  at  the 
base  of  some  foothills  in  the  Sangre  de  Christo  Range, 
some  miles  from  Dawes. 

He  spent  three  days  in  Nogel,  interrogating  the  resi 
dent  manager  of  the  "Larry's  Luck"  mine,  talking  with 
miners  and  storekeepers  and  quizzing  men  in  saloons  — 
and  at  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  day  he  returned  to 
Dawes. 

At  about  the  time  Miss  Harlan  and  Taylor  were  sit 
ting  on  the  rock  on  the  bank  of  the  river  near  the  Arrow, 
Carrington  was  in  the  courthouse  at  Dawes,  leaning  over 
Judge  Littlefield's  desk.  A  tall,  sleek-looking  man  of 
middle  age,  with  a  cold,  steady  eye  and  a  smooth  smile, 
stood  near  Carrington.  The  man  was  neatly  attired,  and 
looked  like  a  prosperous  mine-owner  or  operator. 

But  had  the  judge  looked  sharply  at  his  hands  when  he 
gripped  the  one  that  was  held  out  to  him  when  Carrington 
introduced  the  man;  or  had  he  been  a  physiognomist  of 
average  ability,  he  could  not  have  failed  to  note  the 
smooth  softness  of  the  man's  hands  and  the  gleam  of  guile 
and  cunning  swimming  deep  in  his  eyes. 

But  the  judge  noted  none  of  those  things.  He  had 
caught  the  man's  name  —  Mint  Morton  —  and  instantly 
afterward  all  his  senses  became  centered  upon  what  the 
man  was  saying. 


, A  DEATH  WARRANT 235 

For  the  man  spoke  of  conscience  —  and  the  judge  had 
one  of  his  own  —  a  guilty  one.  So  he  listened  attentively 
while  the  man  talked. 

The  thing  had  been  bothering  the  man  for  some  months 
—  or  from  the  time  it  happened,  he  said.  And  he  had 
come  to  make  a  confession. 

He  was  a  miner,  having  a  claim  near  Nogel.  He  knew 
Ouinton  Taylor,  and  he  had  known  Larry  Harlan.  One 
morning  after  leaving  his  mine  on  a  trip  to  Nogel  for 
supplies,  he  had  passed  close  to  the  "Larry's  Luck" 
mine.  Being  on  good  terms  with  the  partners,  he  had 
thought  of  visiting  them.  Approaching  the  mine  on  foot 
• — having  left  his  horse  at  a  little  distance  —  he  heard 
Taylor  and  Harlan  quarreling.  He  had  no  opportunity 
to  interfere,  for  just  as  he  came  upon  the  men  he  saw 
Taylor  knock  Harlan  down  with  a  blow  of  his  fist.  And 
while  Harlan  lay  unconscious  on  the  ground  Taylor  had 
struck  him  on  the  head  with  a  rock. 

Morton  had  not  revealed  himself,  then,  fearing  Taylor 
would  attack  him.  He  had  concealed  himself,  and  had 
seen  Taylor,  apparently  remorseful,  trying  to  revive 
Harlan.  These  efforts  proving  futile,  Taylor  had  rigged 
up  a  drag,  placed  Harlan  on  it,  and  had  taken  him  to 
Nogel.  But  Harlan  died  on  the  way. 

To  Littlefield's  inquiry  as  to  why  Morton  had  not  re 
ported  the  murder  instantly,  the  man  replied  that,  being 
a  friend  to  Taylor,  he  had  been  reluctant  to  expose  him. 


236 THE  RANCHMAN 

After  the  man  concluded  his  story  the  judge  and  Car- 
Hngton  exchanged  glances.  There  was  a  vindictively 
triumphant  gleam  in  Littlefield's  eyes,  for  he  still  remem 
bered  the  humiliation  he  had  endured  at  Taylor's  hands. 

He  took  Morton's  deposition,  told  him  he  would  send 
for  him,  later;  and  dismissed  him.  Carrington,  appear 
ing  to  be  much  astonished  over  the  man's  confession, 
accompanied  him  to  the  station,  where  he  watched  him 
board  the  train  that  would  take  him  back  to  Nogel. 

And  on  the  platform  of  one  of  the  coaches,  Carring 
ton,  grinning  wickedly,  gave  the  man  a  number  of  yellow- 
backed  treasury  notes. 

"You  think  I  won't  have  to  come  back  —  to  testify 
against  him?"  asked  the  man,  smiling  coldly. 

"Certainly  not!"  declared  Carrington.  "You've 
signed  his  death  warrant  this  time ! " 

Carrington  watched  the  train  glide  westward,  and  then 
returned  to  the  courthouse.  He  found  the  judge  sitting 
at  his  desk,  gazing  meditatively  at  the  floor.  For  there 
had  been  something  insincere  in  Morton's  manner  —  his 
story  of  the  murder  had  not  been  quite  convincing  —  and 
in  spite  of  his  resentment  against  Taylor  the  judge  did 
not  desire  to  add  anything  to  the  burden  already  carried 
by  his  conscience. 

Carrington  grinned  maliciously  as  he  halted  at  Little- 
field's  side  and  laid  a  hand  on  the  other's  arm. 

"We've  got  him,  Littlefield!"  he  said.     "Get  busy. 


A  DEATH  WARRANT 237 

Issue  a  warrant  for  his  arrest.  I'll  have  Dan  forth  send 
you  some  men  to  serve  as  deputies  —  twenty  of  them,  if 
you  think  it  necessary ! " 

The  judge  cleared  his  throat  and  looked  with  shifting 
eyes  at  the  other. 

"Look  here,  Carrington,"  he  said,  "I —  I  have  some 
doubts  about  the  sincerity  of  that  man  Morton.  I'd  like 
to  postpone  action  in  this  case  until  I  can  make  an  inves 
tigation.  It  seems  to  me  that  —  that  Taylor,  for  all  his 
—  er  —  seeming  viciousness,  is  not  the  kind  of  man  to  kill 
his  partner.  I'd  like  to  delay  just  a  little,  to " 

"And  let  Taylor  get  wind  of  the  thing  —  and  escape. 
Not  by  a  damned  sight!  One  man's  word  is  as  good  as 
another's  in  this  country;  and  it's  your  duty  as  a  judge 
of  the  court,  here,  to  act  upon  any  complaint.  You  issue 
the  warrant.  I'll  get  Keats  to  serve  it.  He'll  bring  Taylpr 
here,  and  you  can  legally  examine  him.  That's  merely 
justice ! " 

Half  an  hour  later,  Carrington  was  handing  the  war 
rant  to  a  big,  rough-looking  man  with  an  habitual  and 
cruel  droop  to  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"You'd  better  take  some  naen  with  you,  Keats,"  sug 
gested  Carrington.  "  He'll  fight,  most  likely,"  he  grinned, 
evilly.  "Understand,"  he  added;  "if  you  should  have  to 
kill  Taylor  bringing  him  in,  there  would  be  no  inquiry 
made.  And — "  he  looked  at  Keats  and  grinned,  slowly 
and  deliberately  closing  an  eye. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

KEATS  LOOKS  FOR  "  SQUINT  " 

NEIL  NORTON  had  been  attending  to  Taylor's 
affairs  in  Dawes  during  the  latter's  illness,  and 
he  had  ridden  to  the  Arrow  this  morning  to  discuss  with 
Taylor  a  letter  he  had  received  —  for  Taylor  —  from  a 
Denver  cattle  buyer.  The  inquiry  was  for  Herefords  of 
certain  markings  and  quality,  and  Norton  could  give  the 
buyer  no  information.  So  Norton  had  come  to  Taylor 
for  the  information. 

"The  herd  is  grazing  in  the  Kelso  Basin,"  Taylor  told 
Norton.  Norton  knew  the  Kelso  Basin  was  at  least 
fifteen  miles  distant  from  the  Arrow  ranchhouse  —  a  deep, 
wide  valley  directly  west,  watered  by  the  same  river  that 
flowed  near  the  Arrow  ranchhouse. 

"  I  can't  say,  offhand,  whether  we've  got  what  your 
Denver  man  wants."  He  grinned  at  Norton,  adding: 
"  But  it's  a  fine  morning  for  a  ride,  and  I  haven't  done 
much  riding  lately.  I'll  go  and  take  a  look." 

"  I'll  be  looking,  too,"  declared  Norton.    "  The  Eagle 

forms  are  ready  for  the  press,  and  there  isn't  much  to  do." 

Later,  Taylor,  mounted  on  Spotted  Tail,  and  Norton 

on  a  big,  rangy  sorrel,  the  two  men  rode  away.    Taylor 

238 


KEATS  LOOKS  FOR  "SQUINT" 239 

stopped  at  the  horse  corral  gate  long  enough  to  tell  Bud 
Hemmingway,  who  was  replacing  a  bar,  that  he  and 
Norton  were  riding  to  the  Kelso  Basin. 

And  there  was  one  other  to  whom  he  had  spoken  — 
when  he  had  gone  into  the  house  to  buckle  on  his  cart 
ridge-belt  and  pistols,  just  before  he  went  out  to  saddle 
Spotted  Tail.  It  was  the  girl  who  had  tantalized  him 
while  they  had  been  sitting  on  the  rock.  She  had  not 
spoken  frivolously  to  him  inside  the  house;  instead,  she 
had  gravely  warned  him  to  be  "  careful ;  "  that  his  wounds 
might  bother  him  on  a  long  ride  —  and  that  she  didn't 
;  want  him  to  suffer  a  relapse.  And  she  watched  him  as  he 
and  Norton  rode  away,  following  the  dust-cloud  that 
enveloped  them  until  it  vanished  into  the  mists  of  dis 
tance.  Then  she  turned  from  the  door  with  a  sigh,  think 
ing  of  the  fate  that  had  made  her  dependent  upon  the 
charity  of  the  man  she  loved. 

To  Bud  Hemmingway,  working  at  the  corral  gate  about 
an  hour  following  the  departure  of  Taylor  and  Norton, 
there  came  an  insistent  demand  to  look  toward  Dawes. 
It  was  merely  one  of  those  absurd  impulses  founded 
upon  a  whim  provoked  by  self -manufactured  presenti 
ment —  but  Bud  looked.  What  he  saw  caused  him  to 
stand  erect  and  stare  hard  at  the  trail  between  Mullarky's 
cabin  and  the  Arrow  —  for  about  two  miles  out  came  a 
dozen  or  more  riders,  their  horses  traveling  fast. 

For  several  seconds  Bud  watched  intently,  straining  his 


240 THE  RANCHMAN 

eyes  in  an  effort  to  distinguish  something  about  the  men 
that  would  make  their  identity  clear.  And  then  he 
dropped  the  hammer  he  had  been  working  with  and  ran 
to  the  bunkhouse,  where  he  put  on  his  cartridge-belt  and 
pistol. 

Returning  to  the  bunkhouse  door,  he  stood  in  it  for  a 
time,  watching  the  approaching  men.  Then  he  scowled, 
muttering: 

"  It's  that  damned  Keats  an'  some  of  his  bunch !  What 
in  hell  are  they  wantin'  at  the  Arrow  ?  " 

Bud  was  standing  near  the  edge  of  the  front  gallery 
when  Keats  and  his  men  rode  up.  There  were  fourteen 
of  the  men,  and,  like  their  leader,  they  were  ill-visaged, 
bepistoled. 

Marion  Harlan  had  heard  the  noise  of  their  approach, 
and  she  had  come  to  the  front  door.  She  stood  in  the 
opening,  her  gaze  fixed  inquiringly  upon  the  riders,  though 
chiefly  upon  Keats,  whose  manner  proclaimed  him  the 
leader.  He  looked  at  Bud. 

"  Hello,  Hemmingway !  "  he  greeted,  gruffly.  "  I  take 
it  the  outfit  ain't  in?" 

"  Workin',  Kelso,"  returned  Bud.  Bud's  gaze  at  Keats 
was  belligerent;  he  resented  the  presence  of  Keats  and 
the  men  at  the  Arrow,  for  he  had  never  liked  Keats,  and 
he  knew  the  relations  between  the  visitor  and  Taylor 
were  strained  almost  to  the  point  of  open  antagonism. 

"What's  eatin'  you  guys?"  demanded  Bud. 


KEATS  LOOKS  FOR  "SQUINT" 241 

"  Plenty ! "  stated  Keats  importantly.  He  turned  to 
the  men. 

"  Scatter! "  he  commanded;  "an'  rustle  him  up,  if  he's 
anywhere  around !  Hey !  "  he  shouted  at  a  slender,  rat- 
faced  individual.  "You  an'  Darbey  search  the  house! 
Two  more  of  you  take  a  look  at  the  bunkhouse  —  and  the 
rest  of  you  nose  around  the  other  buildin's.  Keep  your 
eyes  peeled,  an'  if  he  goes  to  gettin'  fresh,  plug  him 
plenty ! " 

"Why,  what  is  wrong?"  demanded  Marion.  Her 
face  was  pale  with  indignation,  for  she  resented  the 
authoritative  tone  used  by  Keats  as  much  as  she  resented 
the  thought  of  the  two  men  entering  the  house  unbidden. 

Keats's  face  flamed  with  sudden  passion.  With  a  snap 
of  his  wrist  he  drew  his  gun  and  trained  its  muzzle  on 
Bud. 

"  Wrong  enough !  "  he  snapped.  He  was  looking  at 
Bud  while  answering  Miss  Harlan's  question.  "I'm 
after  Squint  Taylor,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  get  him  —  that's  all ! 
An'  if  you  folks  go  to  interferin'  it'll  be  the  worse  for 
you!" 

Marion  stiffened  and  braced  herself  in  the  doorway, 
her  eyes  wide  with  dread  and  her  lips  parted  to  ask  the 
question  that  Bud  now  spoke,  his  voice  drawling  slightly 
with  sarcasm. 

"Taylor,  eh?"  he  said.  "What  you  wantin"  with 
Jaylor?" 


242         THE  RANCHMAN 

"  I'm  wantin'  him  for  murderin'  Larry  Harlan ! " 
snapped  Keats. 

Bud  gulped,  drew  a  deep  breath  and  went  pale.  He 
looked  at  Marion,  and  saw  that  the  girl  was  terribly 
moved  by  Keats's  words.  But  neither  the  girl  nor  Bud 
spoke  while  Keats  dismounted,  crossed  the  porch,  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  door,  which  was  barred  by  the 
girl's  body. 

"Get  out  of  the  way  —  I'm  goin'  in!"  ordered  Keats. 
The  girl  moved  aside  to  let  him  pass,  and  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold  she  asked,  weakly : 

"How  do  you  —  how  do  they  know  Mr.  Taylor  killed 
Larry  Harlan?" 

Keats  turned  on  her,  grinning  mirthlessly. 
"  How  do  we  know  anything?  "  he  jeered.    "  Evidence 
—  that's  what  —  an'  plenty  of  it!" 

Keats  vanished  inside,  and  Bud,  his  eyes  snapping 
with  the  alert  glances  he  threw  around  him,  slowly  backed 
away  from  the  porch  toward  the  stable.  As  he  turned, 
after  backing  several  feet,  he  saw  Marion  walk  slowly  to 
a  rocker  that  stood  on  the  porch,  drop  weakly  into  it  and 
cover  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Gaining  the  stable,  Bud  worked  fast ;  throwing  a  saddle 
and  bridle  upon  King,  the  speediest  horse  in  the  Arrow 
outfit,  excepting  Spotted  Tail. 

With  movements  that  he  tried  hard  to  make  casual, 
but  with  an  impatience  that  made  his  heart  pound  heav- 


KEATS  LOOKS  FOR  "SQUINT" 243 

ily,  he  got  King  out  and  led  him  to  the  rear  of  the 
stable. 

Some  of  Keats's  men  were  running  from  one  building 
to  another;  but  he  was  not  Taylor,  and  they  seemed  to 
pay  no  attention  to  him,  beyond  giving  him  sharp  glances. 

Passing  behind  the  blacksmith-shop,  Bud  heard  a  voice 
saying : 

"Dead  or  alive,  Keats  says;  an'  they'd  admire  to  have 
him  dead.  I  heard  Carrington  tellin'  Keats!" 

As  the  sound  of  the  voice  died  away,  Bud  touched 
King's  flank  with  the  spurs.  The  big  horse,  after  a  day 
in  the  stable,  was  impatient  and  eager  for  a  run,  and  he 
swept  past  the  scattered  buildings  of  the  ranch  with  long, 
swift  leaps  that  took  him  out  upon  the  plains  before 
Keats  could  complete  his  search  of  the  first  floor  of  the 
house. 

The  two  men  who  had  searched  the  upper  floor  came 
downstairs,  to  meet  Keats  in  the  front  room.  They 
grimly  shook  their  heads  at  Keats,  and  at  his  orders  went 
outside  to  search  with  the  other  men. 

Keats  stepped  to  the  door,  saw  Marion  sitting  limply 
in  the  rocking-chair,  her  shoulders  convulsed  with  sobs, 
and  crossed  to  her,  shaking  her  with  a  brutal  arm. 

"Where's  that  guy  I  left  standin'  there?  Where's  he 
—  Hemmingway  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl  dully. 

Keats  cursed  and  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  porch.    With 


244 THE  RANCHMAN 

his  gaze  sweeping  the  buildings,  the  pasture,  the  corrals, 
and  the  wide  stretch  of  plain  westward,  he  stiffened, 
calling  angrily  to  his  men : 

"  There  he  goes  —  damn  him !  It's  that  sneakin'  Bud 
Hemmingway,  an'  he's  gone  to  tell  Taylor  we're  after 
him !  He  knows  where  Taylor  is !  Get  your  hosses ! " 

Forced  to  her  feet  by  the  intense  activity  that  followed 
Keats's  loudly  bellowed  orders,  the  girl  crossed  the  porch, 
and  from  a  point  near  the  end  railing  watched  Keats  and 
his  men  clamber  into  their  saddles  and  race  after  Bud. 
For  a  long  time  she  watched  them  —  a  tiny  blot  gliding 
over  the  plains,  followed  by  a  larger  blot  —  and  then  she 
walked  slowly  to  the  rocking-chair,  looked  down  at  it  as 
though  its  spaciousness  invited  her ;  then  she  turned  from 
it,  entered  the  house,  and  going  to  her  room  —  where 
Martha  was  sleeping  —  began  feverishly  throwing  her 
few  belongings  into  the  small  handbag  she  had  brought 
,with  her  from  the  big  house. 


EVOKING  back  after  he  had  been  riding  for  some 
minutes,  Bud  saw  a  dozen  or  more  horses  break 
from  the  group  of  Arrow  buildings  and  come  racing 
toward  him,  spreading  out  fanwisc. 

"  They've  seen  me ! "  breathed  Bud,  and  he  leaned  oycr 
King's  shoulders  and  spoke  to  him.  The  animal  re 
sponded  with  a  burst  of  speed  that  brought  a  smile  to 
Bud's  face.  For  the  puncher  knew  that  Taylor  and  Nor 
ton  couldn't  have  traveled  more  than  a  few  miles  in  the 
short  time  that  had  passed  since  their  departure ;  and  he 
knew  also  that  in  a  short  run  —  of  a  dozen  miles  or  so  — 
there  wasn't  a  horse  in  the  Dawes  section  that  could  catch 
King,  barring,  of  course,  Spotted  Tail,  the  real  king  of 
range  horses. 

And  so  Bud  bent  eagerly  to  his  work,  not  riding  erect 
in  the  saddle  as  is  the  fashion  of  the  experienced  cow- 
puncher  in  an  unfamiliar  country,  where  pitfalls,  breaks, 
draws,  hidden  gullies,  and  weed-grown  barrancas  pro 
vide  hazards  that  might  bring  disaster.  Bud  knew  this 
section  of  the  country  as  well  as  he  knew  the  interior  of 
the  bunkhouse,  and  with  his  knowledge  came  a  confident 

245 


246  THE  RANCHMAN 

that  nothing  would  happen  to  him  or  King,  except  possibly 
a  slip  into  a  gopher  hole. 

And  Bud  kept  scanning  the  country  far  enough  ahead 
to  keep  King  from  running  into  a  gopher  town.  He 
swung  the  animal  wide  in  passing  them  —  for  he  knew 
it  was  the  habit  of  these  denizens  of  the  plains  to  extend 
their  habitat  —  some  venturesome  and  independent  spirits 
straying  far  from  the  huddle  and  congestion  of  the 
multitude. 

Bud  looked  back  many  times  during  the  first  two  miles, 
and  he  saw  that  Keats  and  his  men  were  losing  ground; 
their  horses  could  not  keep  the  pace  set  by  the  big  bay 
flier  under  Bud. 

And  King  was  not  going  as  he  could  go  when  the  neces 
sity  arrived.  This  ride  was  a  frolic  for  the  big  bay,  and 
yet  Bud  knew  he  must  not  force  him,  that  he  must  con 
serve  his  wind,  for  if  Taylor  and  Norton  had  yielded  to 
a  whim  to  hurry,  even  King  would  need  all  his  speed  and 
endurance  to  hang  on.  For  the  sorrel  that  had  accom 
panied  Spotted  Tail  was  not  so  greatly  inferior  to  King 
that  the  latter  could  take  liberties  with  him. 

Bud  gloated  as  he  looked  back  after  he  had  covered 
another  mile.  Keats  and  his  men  were  still  losing  ground, 
though  they  were  not  so  very  far  back,  either  —  Bud 
could  almost  see  the  faces  of  the  men.  But  that,  Bud 
knew,  was  due  to  the  marvelous  clarity  of  the  atmosphere. 

When  the  sides  of  the  big  hills  surrounding  the  level 


KEATS  FINDS  "SQUINT" 247 

began  to  sweep  inward  rapidly,  Bud  knew  that  the  grass 
level  was  coming  to  an  end,  and  that  presently  he  would 
strike  a  long  stretch  of  broken  country.  Beyond  that 
was  a  big  valley,  rich  and  fertile,  in  which,  according  to 
report,  the  Arrow  herd  should  be  grazing,  guarded  by 
the  men  of  the  outfit,  under  Bothwell.  But  Kelso  Basin, 
was  still  nine  or  ten  miles  distant,  and  Bud  did  not  yet 
dare  to  let  the  big  bay  horse  run  his  best. 

Still,  when  they  flashed  by  a  huge  promontory  that 
stood  sentinel-like  above  the  waters  of  the  river  —  a  spot 
well  remembered  by  Bud,  because  many  times  while  on 
day  duty  he  had  lain  prone  on  its  top  smoking  and  dream 
ing —  King  was  running  as  lightly  as  a  leaf  before  the 
hurricane. 

King  had  entered  the  section  of  broken  country,  with 
its  beds  of  rock  and  lava,  and  huge  boulders  strewn  here 
and  there,  relics  of  gigantic  upheavals  when  the  earth 
was  young;  and  Bud  was  skilfully  directing  King  to  the 
stretches  of  smooth  level  that  he  found  here  and  there, 
when  far  ahead  he  saw  Taylor  and  Norton. 

In  ten  minutes  he  was  within  hailing  distance,  and  he 
grinned  widely  when,,  hearing  him,  they  pulled  their 
horses  to  a  halt  and,  wheeling,  faced  him. 

For  Bud  saw  that  they  had  reached  a  spot  which  would 
make  an  admirable  defensive  position,  should  Taylor 
decide  to  resist  Keats.  The  hills,  in  their  gradual  inward 
sweep,  were  close  together,  so  that  their  crests  seemed  to 


248 THE  RANCHMAN 

nod  to  one  another.  And  a  little  farther  down,  Bud  knew, 
they  formed  a  gorge,  which  still  farther  on  merged  into  a 
canon.  It  was  an  ideal  position  for  a  stand  —  if  Taylor 
would  stand  and  not  run  for  it;  and  he  rather  thought 
Taylor  would  not  run. 

Taylor  had  ridden  toward  Bud,  and  was  a  hundred 
feet  in  advance  of  Norton  when  Bud  pulled  King  to  a 
halt,  shouting: 

"  Keats  and  a  dozen  men  are  right  behind  me  —  a  mile ; 
mebbe  two!  He's  got  a  warrant  for  you,  chargin'  you 
with  murderin'  Larry  Harlan!  I  heard  one  of  his  scum 
sayin'  it  was  to  be  a  clean-up ! " 

Taylor  laughed ;  he  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  interested 
in  Keats  or  his  men,  who  at  that  instant  were  riding  at  a 
pace  that  was  likely  to  kill  their  horses,  should  they  be 
forced  to  maintain  it. 

"Who  accused  me  of  murdering  Harlan?" 

"  Keats  didn't  say.  But  I  heard  a  guy  sayin'  that  Car- 
rington  was  wantin'  Keats  to  take  you  dead ! " 

The  cold  gleam  in  Taylor's  eyes  and  the  slight,  stiff 
grin  that  wreathed  his  lips,  indicated  that  he  had  deter 
mined  that  Keats  would  have  to  kill  him  before  taking 
him. 

"A  dozen  of  them,  eh?"  he  said,  looking  from  Bud  to 
Norton  deliberately.  "Well,  that's  a  bunch  for  three 
men  to  fight,  but  it  isn't  enough  to  run  from.  We'll  stay 
here  and  have  it  out  with  them.  That  is,"  he  added  with 


KEATS  FINDS  "SQUINT" 249 

a  quick,  quizzical  look  at  the  two  men,  "  if  one  of  you  is 
determined  to  stay." 

"  One  of  us  ?  "  flared  Bud.  He  gazed  hard  at  Norton, 
with  suspicion  and  belligerence  in  his  glance.  Norton 
flushed  at  the  look.  "I  reckon  we'll  both  be  in  at  the 
finish,"  added  Bud. 

"  Only  one,"  declared  Taylor.  "  We  might  hold  a 
dozen  men  off  here  for  a  good  many  hours.  But  if  they 
were  wise  and  patient  they'd  get  us.  One  man  will  light 
out  for  Kelso  Basin  to  get  the  outfit.  Settle  it  between 
you,  but  be  quick  about  it ! " 

Taylor  swung  down  from  his  horse,  led  the  animal  out 
of  sight  behind  a  jutting  crag  into  a  sort  of  pocket  in  the 
side  of  the  gorge,  where  there  would  be  no  danger  of  the 
magnificent  beast  being  struck  by  a  bullet.  Taylor  pulled 
his  rifle  from  its  saddle-sheath,  examined  the  mechan 
ism,  looked  at  his  pistols,  and  then  returned  to  where 
Bud  Hemmingway  and  Neil  Norton  sat  on  their 
horses. 

Bud's  face  was  flushed  and  Norton  was  grinning.  And 
at  just  the  instant  Taylor  came  in  sight  of  them  Norton 
was  saying: 

"Well,  if  you  insist,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  to 
Kelso.  There  isn't  time  to  argue." 

Norton  wheeled  his  horse,  and,  with  a  quick  grin  at 
Taylor,  sent  the  animal  clattering  down  the  gorge. 

Bud's  grin  at  Taylor  was  pregnant  with  guilt 


250  _  THE  RANCHMAN  _ 

"  Norton  didn't  want  me  to  stay.  There's  lots  of  stub 
born  cusses  in  the  world  —  now,  ain't  they?" 

Taylor's  answering  smile  showed  that  he  understood. 

"Get  King  back  here  with  Spotted  Tail,  Bud!"  he 
directed.  "And  take  that  pile  of  rocks  for  cover.  They're 


coming 


By  the  time  Bud  did  as  he  had  been  bidden,  and  was 
crouching  behind  a  huge  mound  of  broken  rock  on  the 
north  side  of  the  gorge,  Taylor  on  the  southern  side,  with 
a  twenty-foot  passage  on  the  comparatively  level  floor  of 
the  gorge  between  them,  and  an  uninterrupted  sweep  of 
narrow  level  in  front  of  them,  except  for  here  and  there 
a  jutting  rock  or  a  boulder,  they  saw  Keats  and  his  men 
just  entering  the  stretch  of  broken  country. 

The  horses  of  the  pursuing  outfit  were  doing  their  best. 
They  came  on  over  the  stretch  of  treacherous  trail,  labor 
ing,  pounding  and  clattering;  singly  sometimes,  two  and 
three  abreast  where  there  was  room,  keeping  well  to 
gether,  their  riders  urging  them  with  quirt  and  spur.  For 
far  back  on  the  trail  they  had  lost  sight  of  Bud,  though 
Keats  had  remembered  that  Bud  had  said  Taylor  had  gone 
to  Kelso  Basin,  and  therefore  Keats  knew  he  was  on  the 
right  trail. 

However,  he  did  not  want  to  let  Bud  get  to  Kelso  before 
him  to  warn  the  Arrow  outfit;  for  that  would  mean  a 
desperate  battle  with  a  force  equal  in  numbers  to  his  own. 
Keats  fought  best  when  the  advantages  were  with  him, 


KEATS  FINDS  "SQUINT"  251 

and  he  knew  his  men  were  similarly  constituted.  And 
so  he  was  riding  as  hard  as  he  dared,  hoping  that  some 
thing  would  happen  to  Bud's  horse  —  that  the  animal 
might  become  winded  or  fall.  A  man  could  not  tell  what 
might  happen  in  a  pursuit  of  this  character. 

But  the  thing  that  did  happen  had  not  figured  in  Keats's 
lurid  conjectures  at  all.  That  was  why,  when  he  heard 
Taylor's  quick  challenge,  he  pulled  his  horse  up  sharply, 
so  that  the  animal  slipped  several  feet  and  came  to  a  halt 
sidewise. 

Keats's  unexpected  halt  brought  confusion  to  his  fol 
lowers.  A  dozen  of  them,  crowding  Keats  hard,  and  not 
noticing  their  leader's  halt  in  time,  rode  straight  against 
him,  their  horses  jamming  the  narrow  gorge,  kicking, 
snorting  and  squealing  in  a  disordered  and  uncontrollable 
mass. 

When  the  tangle  had  been  magically  undone  —  the 
magic  being  Taylor's  voice  again,  burdened  with  sarcasm 
bearing  upon  their  excitement  —  Keats  found  himself 
nearest  the  nest  of  rocks  from  behind  which  Taylor's 
voice  seemed  to  come. 

The  jutting  crag  behind  which  Taylor  had  concealed 
his  horse,  and  where  Bud  had  led  King,  completely  ob 
structed  Keats's  view  of  the  gorge  behind  the  crag,  toward 
Kelso  Basin,  and  Keats  did  not  know  but  that  the  entire 
Arrow  outfit  was  concealed  behind  the  rocks  and  boulders 
that  littered  the  level  in  the  vicinity. 


252 THE  RANCHMAN 

And  so  he  sat  motionless,  slowly  and  respectfully  rais 
ing  his  hands.  Noting  his  action,  his  men  did  likewise. 

"That's  polite,"  came  Taylor's  voice  coldly.  "Uem- 
mingway  says  you're  looking  for  me.  What  for  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  warrant  for  you,  chargin'  you  with  mur- 
derin'  Larry  Harlan." 

"Who  accused  me?" 

"  Mint  Morton,  of  Nogel." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Behind  the  clump  of  rock 
Taylor  smiled  mirthlessly  at  Bud,  who  was  watching 
him.  For  Taylor  knew  Mint  Morton,  of  Nogel,  as  a 
gambler,  unscrupulous  and  dishonest.  He  had  earned 
Morton's  hatred  when  one  night  in  a  Nogel  saloon  he 
had  caught  Morton  cheating  and  had  forced  him  to  dis 
gorge  his  winnings.  His  victim  had  been  a  miner  on  his 
way  East  with  the  earnings  of  five  years  in  his  pockets. 
Taylor  had  not  been  able  to  endure  the  spectacle  of  abject 
despair  that  had  followed  the  man's  loss  of  all  his  money. 

Taylor  did  not  know  that  Carrington  had  hunted  Mor 
ton  up,  paying  him  well  to  bring  the  murder  charge,  but 
Taylor  did  know  that  he  was  innocent  of  murder;  and 
by  linking  Morton  with  Carrington  he  could  readily  un 
derstand  why  Keats  wanted  him.  He  broke  the  silence 
with  a  short: 

"Who  issued  the  warrant?" 

"  Judge  Littlefield." 

"Well,"  said  Taylor,  "you  can  take  it  right  back  to 


KEATS  FINDS  "SQUINT" 253 

him  and  tell  him  to  let  Carrington  serve  it.  For,"  he 
added,  a  note  of  grim  humor  creeping  into  his  voice,  "  I'm 
a  heap  particular  about  such  things,  Keats.  I  couldn't 
let  a  sneak  like  you  take  me  in.  And  I  don't  like  the 
looks  of  that  dirty-looking  outfit  with  you.  And  so  I'm 
telling  you  a  few  things.  I'm  giving  you  one  minute  to 
hit  the  breeze  out  of  this  section.  If  you're  here  when 
that  time  is  up,  I  down  you,  Keats !  Slope ! " 

Keats  flashed  one  glance  around  at  his  men.  Some  of 
them  already  had  their  horses  in  motion;  others  were 
nervously  fingering  their  bridle-reins.  Keats  sneered  at 
the  rock  nest  ahead  of  him. 

The  intense  silence  which  followed  Taylor's  warning 
lasted  about  ten  seconds.  Then  Keats's  face  paled;  he 
wheeled  his  horse  and  sent  it  scampering  over  the  back 
trail,  his  men  following,  crowding  him  hard. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BESIEGED 

HEMMINGWAY  tentatively  suggested  that  a  ride 
through  the  gorge  toward  the  Kelso  Basin  might 
simplify  matters  for  himself  and  Taylor;  it  might,  he 
said,  even  seem  to  make  the  defending  of  their  position 
unnecessary.  But  his  suggestions  met  with  no  enthusiasm 
from  Taylor,  who  lounged  among  the  rocks  of  his  place 
of  concealment  calmly  smoking. 

Taylor  gave  some  reasons  for  his  disinclination  to  adopt 
Hemmingway's  suggestions. 

"Norton  will  be  back  in  an  hour,  with  Bothwell  and 
the  outfit."  And  now  he  grinned  as  he  looked  at  Bud. 
"Miss  Harlan  told  me  to  be  careful  about  my  scratches. 
I  take  it  she  don't  want  no  more  sieges  with  a  sick  man. 
And  I'm  taking  her  advice.  If  I'd  go  to  riding  my  horse 
like  blazes,  maybe  I  would  get  sick  again.  And  she 
wouldn't  take  care  of  me  anymore.  And  I'd  hate  like 
blazes  to  run  from  Keats  and  his  bunch  of  plug-uglies ! " 

So  Hemmingway  said  no  more  on  that  subject. 

They  smoked  and  talked  and  watched  the  trail  for  signs 
of  Keats  and  his  men;  while  the  sun,  which  had  been 
behind  the  towering  hills  surrounding  the  gorge,  trav- 

254 


BESIEGED  255 

eled  slowly  above  them,  finally  blazing  down  from  a  point 
directly  overhead. 

It  became  hot  in  the  gorge ;  the  air  was  stifling  and  the 
heat  uncomfortable.  Taylor  did  not  seem  to  mind  it,  but 
Bud,  with  a  vigorous  appetite,  and  longings  that  ran  to 
flapjacks  and  sirup,  grew  impatient. 

"If  a  man  could  eat  now,"  he  remarked  once,  while 
the  sun  was  directly  overhead,  "why,  it  wouldn't  be  so 
bad!" 

And  then,  after  the  sun's  blazing  rays  had  begun  to 
diminish  in  intensity  somewhat,  Bud  looked  upward  and 
saw  that  the  shimmering  orb  had  passed  beyond  the  crest 
of  a  towering  hill.  He  looked  sharply  at  Taylor,  who  was 
intently  watching  the  back  trail,  and  said  gravely : 

"Norton  ought  to  have  been  back  with  Bothwell  and 
the  bunch,  now." 

"  He's  an  hour  overdue,"  said  Taylor,  without  looking 
at  Bud. 

"I  reckon  somethin's  happened,"  growled  Bud. 
"  Somethin'  always  happens  when  a  guy's  holed  up,  like 
this.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  a  man  could  eat  a  little 
somethin' — to  sort  of  keep  him  from  thinkin'  of  it  all 
the  time.  Or,  mebbe,  if  there  was  a  little  excitement — - 
or  somethin'.  A  man  could " 

"There'll  be  plenty  of  excitement  before  long,"  inter 
rupted  Taylor.  "  Keats  and  his  gang  didn't  go  very  far, 
I  just  saw  one  of  them  sneaking  along  that  rock-knob, 


256       THE  RANCHMAN 

down  the  gorge  a  piece.  They're  going  to  stalk  us.  If 
you're  thinking  of  riding  to  Kelso  —  why — "  He  grinned 
at  Bud's  resentful  scowl. 

Lying  flat  on  his  stomach,  he  watched  the  rock-knob  he 
had  mentioned. 

"  Slick  as  an  Indian,"  he  remarked  once,  while  Bud, 
having  ceased  his  discontented  mutterings,  kept  his  gaze 
on  the  rock  also. 

And  then  suddenly  the  eery  silence  of  the  gorge  was 
broken  by  the  sharp  crack  of  Taylor's  rifle,  and,  simul 
taneously,  by  a  shriek  of  pain.  Report  and  shriek  rever 
berated  with  weird,  echoing  cadences  between  the  hills, 
growing  less  distinct  always  and  finally  the  eery  silence 
reigned  again. 

"  They'll  know  they  can't  get  careless,  now,"  grinned 
Taylor,  working  the  ejector  of  his  rifle. 

Bud  did  not  reply ;  and  for  another  hour  both  men  in 
tently  scanned  the  hills  within  range  of  their  vision, 
straining  their  eyes  to  detect  signs  of  movement  that 
would  warn  them  of  the  whereabouts  of  Keats  and  his 
men. 

Anxiously  Bud  watched  the  rays  of  the  sun  creeping 
up  a  precipitous  rock  wall  at  a  little  distance.  Slowly  the 
streak  of  light  narrowed,  growing  always  less  brilliant, 
and  finally,  when  it  vanished,  Bud  spoke: 

"It's  comin'  on  night,  Squint.  Somethin's  sure  hap 
pened  to  Norton."  He  wriggled  impatiently,  adding: 


BESIEGED 257 

"If  we're  here  when  night  comes  we'll  have  a  picnic 
keepin'  them  guys  off  of  us." 

Taylor  said  nothing  until  the  gorge  began  to  darken 
with  the  shadows  of  twilight.  Then  he  looked  at  Bud,  his 
face  grim. 

"My  stubbornness,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  should  have 
taken  your  advice  about  going  to  Kelso  Basin  —  when  we 
had  a  chance.  But  I  felt  certain  that  Norton  would  have 
the  outfit  here  before  this.  Our  chance  is  gone,  now. 
There  are  some  of  Keats's  men  in  the  hills,  around  us.  I 
just  saw  one  jump  behind  that  rim  rock  on  the  shoulder 
of  that  big  hill  —  there."  He  indicated  the  spot.  Then 
he  again  spoke  to  Bud. 

"There's  a  chance  yet — for  you.  You  take  Spotted 
Tail  and  make  a  run  for  the  basin.  I'll  cover  you." 

"What  about  you?"  grumbled  Bud. 

Taylor  grinned,  and  Bud  laughed.  "You  was  only 
funnin'  me,  I  reckon,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "  You  knowed 
I  wouldn't  slope  an'  leave  you  to  fight  it  out  alone --now 
didn't  you?" 

"  But  if  a  man  was  hungry,"  said  Taylor,  "  and  he  knew 
there  was  grub  with  the  outfit ' 

"I  ain't  hungry  no  more,"  declared  Bud;  "I've  quit 
thinkin'  of  flapjacks  for  more  than " 

He  stiffened,  and  the  first  shadows  of  the  night  were 
split  by  a  long,  narrow  flame-streak  as  his  rifle  crashed. 
And  a  man  who  had  been  slipping  into  the  shelter  of  a 


258 THE  RANCHMAN 

depression  on  the  side  of  a  hill  a  hundred  yards  distant, 
tumbled  grotesquely  out  and  down,  and  went  sliding  to 
the  bottom  of  the  gorge. 

As  though  the  report  of  Bud's  rifle  were  a  signal,  a 
dozen  vivid  jets  of  fire  flamed  from  various  points  in  the 
surrounding  hills,  and  the  silence  was  rent  by  the  vicious 
cracking  of  rifles  and  the  drone  and  thud  of  bullets  as 
they  sped  over  the  heads  of  the  two  men  at  the  bottom 
of  the  gorge  and  flattened  themselves  against  the  rocks 
of  their  shelter. 

That  sound,  too,  died  away.  And  in  the  heavy,  porten 
tous  stillness  which  succeeded  it,  there  came  to  the  ears 
of  the  two  besieged  men  the  sounds  of  distant  shouting, 
faint  and  far. 

"  It's  the  outfit ! "  said  Taylor. 

And  Bud,  rolling  over  and  over  in  an  excess  of  joy 
over  the  coming  of  the  Arrow  men,  hugged  an  imaginary 
form  and  yelled : 

"Oh,  Bothwell,  you  old  son-of-a-gun!  How  I  love 
you!" 


ONE  thought  dominated  Marion  Harlan's  brain  as 
she  packed  her  belongings  into  the  little  handbag 
in  her  room  at  the  Arrow  —  an  overpowering,  monstrous, 
hideous  conviction  that  she  had  accepted  charity  from 
the  man  who  was  accused  of  murdering  her  father !  There 
was  no  room  in  her  brain  for  other  thoughts  or  emotions ; 
she  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  horror  of  it;  of  the 
terrible  uncertainty  that  confronted  her  —  of  the  dread 
that  Taylor  might  be  guilty!  She  wanted  to  believe  in 
him  —  she  did  believe  in  him,  she  told  herself  as  she 
packed  the  bag;  she  could  not  accept  the  word  of  Keats  as 
final.  And  yet  she  could  not  stay  at  the  Arrow  another 
minute — she  could  not  endure  the  uncertainty.  She  must 
go  away  somewhere  —  anywhere,  until  the  charge  were 
proved,  or  until  she  could  see  Taylor,  to  look  into  his  eyes, 
there  to  see  his  guilt  or  innocence. 

She  felt  that  the  charge  could  not  be  true;  for  Taylor 
had  treated  her  so  fairly;  he  had  been  so  sympathetically 
friendly;  he  had  seemed  to  share  her  grief  over  her 
father's  death,  and  he  had  seemed  so  sincere  in  his  dec 
laration  of  his  friendliness  toward  the  man.  He  had 

259 


260 THE  RANCHMAN 

even  seemed  to  share  her  grief;  and  in  the  hallowed  mo 
ments  during  which  he  had  stood  beside  her  while  she 
had  looked  into  her  father's  room,  he  might  have  been 
secretly  laughing  at  her! 

And  into  her  heart  as  she  stood  in  the  room,  now,  there 
crept  a  mighty  shame  —  and  the  shadow  of  her  mother's 
misconduct  never  came  so  close  as  it  did  now.  For  she, 
too,  had  violated  the  laws  of  propriety;  and  what  she  was 
receiving  was  not  more  than  her  just  due.  And  yet, 
though  she  could  blame  herself  for  coming  to  the  Arrow, 
she  could  not  excuse  Taylor's  heinous  conduct  if  he  were 
guilty. 

And  then,  the  first  fierce  passion  burning  itself  out, 
there  followed  the  inevitable  reaction  —  the  numbing, 
staggering,  sorrowing  realization  of  loss.  This  in  turn 
was  succeeded  by  a  frenzied  desire  to  go  away  from  the 
Arrow —  from  everybody  and  everything  —  to  some  place 
where  none  of  them  would  ever  see  her  again. 

She  started  toward  the  door,  and  met  Parsons  —  who 
was  looking  for  her.  He  darted  forward  when  he  saw 
her,  and  grasped  her  by  the  shoulders. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  demanded. 

She  told  him,  and  the  man's  face  whitened. 

"  I  was  asleep,  and  heard  nothing  of  it,"  he  said.  "  So 
that  man  Keats  said  they  had  plenty  of  evidence!  You 
are  going  away  ?  I  wouldn't,  girl ;  there  may  have  been 
a  mistake.  If  I  were  you " 


THE  FUGITIVE  261 


Her  glance  of  horror  brought  Parsons'  protests  to  an 
end  quickly.  He,  too,  she  thought,  was  tinder  the  spell 
of  Taylor's  magnetism.  That,  or  every  person  she  knew 
was  a  prey  to  those  vicious  and  fawning  instincts  to 
which  she  had  yielded  —  the  subordination  of  principle 
to  greed  —  of  ease,  or  of  wealth,  or  of  place. 

She  shuddered  with  sudden  repugnance. 

For  the  first  time  she  had  a  doubt  of  Parsons  —  a  reve 
lation  of  that  character  which  he  had  always  succeeded  in 
keeping  hidden  from  her.  She  drew  away  from  him  and 
walked  to  the  door,  telling  him  that  he  might  stay,  but 
that  she  did  not  intend  to  remain  in  the  house  another 
minute. 

She  found  a  horse  in  the  stable — -two,  in  fact  —  the 
ones  Taylor  had  insisted  belonged  to  her  and  Martha. 
She  threw  saddle  and  bridle  on  hers,  and  was  mounting, 
when  she  saw  Martha  standing  at  the  stable  door, 
watching  her. 

"  Yo'  uncle  says  you  goin'  away,  honey — how's  that? 
An'  he  done  say  somethin'  about  Mr.  Squint  killin'  your 
father.  Doan'  you  b'lieve  no  fool  nonsense  like  that! 
Mr.  Squint  wouldn't  kill  nobody's  father!  That  deputy 
man  ain't  nothin'  but  a  damn,  no-good  liar!" 

Martha's  vehemence  was  genuine,  but  not  convincing; 
and  the  girl  mounted  the  horse,  hanging  the  handbag 
from  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 

"  You's  sure  goin' !  "  screamed  the  negro  woman,  f  ran* 


2G2 THE  RANCHMAN 

tic  with  a  dread  that  she  was  in  danger  of  losing  the  girl 
for  whom  she  had  formed  a  deep  affection. 

"  You  wait  —  you  hear ! "  she  demanded;  "  if  you  leave 
this  house  I's  a  goin',  too!" 

Marion  waited  until  Martha  led  the  other  horse  out, 
and  then,  with  the  negro  woman  following,  she  rode 
eastward  on  the  Dawes  trail,  not  once  looking  back. 

And  not  a  word  did  she  say  to  Martha  as  they  rode 
into  the  space  that  stretched  to  Dawes,  for  the  girl's  heart 
was  heavy  with  self-accusation. 

They  stopped  for  an  instant  at  Mullarky's  cabin,  and 
Mrs.  Mullarky  drew  from  the  girl  the  story  of  the  morn 
ing's  happenings.  And  like  Martha,  Mrs.  Mullarky  had 
an  abiding  faith  in  Taylor's  innocence.  More  —  she 
scorned  the  charge  of  murder  against  him. 

"  Squint  Taylor  murder  your  father,  child !  Why, 
Squint  Taylor  thought  more  of  Larry  Harlan  than  he 
does  of  his  right  hand.  An'  you  ain't  goin'  to  run  away 
from  him  —  for  the  very  good  reason  that  I  ain't  goin' 
to  let  you!  You're  upset  —  that's  what  —  an'  you  can't 
think  as  straight  as  you  ought  to.  You  come  right  in  here 
an'  sip  a  cup  of  tea,  an'  take  a  rest.  I'll  put  your  horses 
away.  If  you  don't  want  to  stay  at  the  Arrow  while 
Taylor,  the  judge,  an'  all  the  rest  of  them  are  pullin'  the 
packin'  out  of  that  case,  why,  you  can  stay  right  here!" 

Yielding  to  the  insistent  demands  of  the  good  woman, 
Marion  meekly  consented  and  went  inside.  And  Mrs. 


THE  FUGITIVE  263 


Mullarky  tried  to  make  her  comfortable,  and  attempted 
to  soothe  her  and  assure  her  of  Taylor's  innocence. 

But  the  girl  was  not  convinced;  and  late  in  the  after 
noon,  despite  Mrs.  Mullarky's  protests,  she  again  mounted 
her  horse  and,  followed  by  Martha,  set  out  toward  Dawes, 
intending  to  take  the  first  east-bound  train  out  of  the 
town,  to  ride  as  far  as  the  meager  amount  of  money  in 
her  purse  would  take  her.  And  as  she  rode,  the  sun 
went  down  behind  the  big  hill  on  whose  crest  sat  the  big 
house,  looming  down  upon  the  level  from  its  lofty  emi 
nence;  and  the  twilight  came,  bathing  the  world  with  its 
somber  promise  of  greater  darkness  to  follow.  But  the 
'darkness  that  was  coming  over  the  world  could  not  be 
greater  than  that  which  reigned  in  the  girl's  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  CAPTIVE 

CARRINGTON'S  experiences  with  Taylor  had  not 
dulled  the  man's  savage  impulses,  nor  had  they 
cooled  his  feverish  desire  for  the  possession  of  Marion 
Harlan.  In  his  brain  rioted  the  dark,  unbridled  passions 
of  those  progenitors  he  had  claimed  in  his  talk  with 
Parsons  on  the  morning  he  had  throttled  the  little  man 
in  his  rooms  above  the  Castle. 

For  the  moment  he  had  postponed  the  real  beginning 
of  his  campaign  for  the  possession  of  Dawes,  his  venom 
ous  hatred  for  Taylor  and  his  passion  for  the  girl 
overwhelming  his  greed. 

He  had  watched  the  departure  of  Keats  and  his  men, 
a  flush  of  exultation  on  his  face,  his  eyes  alight  with  fires 
that  reflected  the  malignant  hatred  he  felt.  And  when 
Keats  and  the  others  disappeared  down  the  trail  that  led 
to  the  Arrow,  Carrington  spent  some  time  in  Dawes. 
Shortly  after  noon  he  rode  out  the  river  trail  toward  the 
big  house  with  two  men  that  he  had  engaged  to  set  the 
interior  in  order. 

Carrington  had  not  seen  the  house  since  the  fight  with 
Taylor  in  the  front  room,  and  the  wreck  and  ruin  that 

264 


THE  CAPTIVE  265 


met  his  gaze  as  he  stood  in  the  door  brought  a  sullen 
pout  to  his  lips. 

But  he  intended  to  exact  heavy  punishment  for  what 
had  occurred  at  the  big  house;  and  as  he  watched  the 
men  setting  things  to  order  —  mending  the  doors  and 
repairing  the  broken  furniture  —  he  drew  mental  pictures 
that  made  his  eyes  flash  with  pleasure. 

He  felt  that  by  this  time  Keats  and  his  men  should 
have  settled  with  Taylor.  After  that,  he,  himself,  would 
make  the  girl  pay. 

So  he  was  having  the  house  put  in  order,  that  it  would 
again  be  habitable;  and  then,  when  that  was  done,  and 
Taylor  out  of  the  way,  he  would  go  to  the  Arrow  after 
the  girl.  But  before  he  went  to  the  Arrow  he  would 
await  the  return  of  Keats  with  the  news  that  Taylor 
would  no  longer  be  able  to  thwart  him. 

Never  in  his  life  had  he  met  a  man  he  feared  as  he 
feared  Taylor.  There  was  something  about  Taylor  that 
made  Carrington's  soul  shrivel.  He  knew  what  it  was  — 
it  was  his  conviction  of  Taylor's  absolute  honorableness, 
as  arrayed  against  his  own  beastly  impulses.  But  that 
knowledge  merely  served  to  intensify  his  hatred  for 
Taylor. 

Toward  evening  Carrington  rode  back  to  Dawes  with 
the  men;  and  while  there  he  sought  news  from  Keats. 
Dan  forth,  from  whom  he  inquired,  could  tell  him  nothing, 
and  so  Carrington  knew  that  Taylor  had  not  yet  been 


266 THE  RANCHMAN 

disposed  of.  But  Carrington  knew  the  time  would  not 
be  long  now;  and  in  a  resort  of  a  questionable  character 
he  found  two  men  who  listened  eagerly  to  his  proposals. 
Later,  the  two  men  accompanying  him,  he  again  rode  to 
the  big  house. 

And  just  as  dusk  began  to  settle  over  the  big  level  at 
the  foot  of  the  long  slope  —  and  while  the  last  glowing 
light  from  the  day  still  softly  bathed  the  big  house, 
throwing  it  into  bold  relief  on  the  crest  of  its  flat- 
topped  hill,  Carrington  was  standing  on  the  front 
porch,  impatiently  scanning  the  basin  for  signs  of  Keats 
and  his  men. 

For  a  time  he  could  distinguish  little  in  the  basin,  for 
the  mists  of  twilight  were  heavy  down  there.  And  then 
a  moving  object  far  out  in  the  basin  caught  his  gaze,  and 
he  leaned  forward,  peering  intently,  consumed  with  eager 
ness  and  curiosity. 

A  few  minutes  later,  still  staring  into  the  basin, 
Carrington  became  aware  that  there  were  two  moving 
objects.  They  were  headed  toward  Dawes,  and  proceed 
ing  slowly;  and  at  last,  when  they  came  nearer  and  he 
caw  they  were  two  women,  on  horses,  he  stiffened 
and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands.  And  then  he  ex 
claimed  sharply,  and  his  eyes  glowed  with  triumph  —  for 
he  had  recognized  the  women  as  Marion  Harland  and 
Martha. 

Moving  slowly,  so  that  he  might  not  attract  the  atten- 


THE  CAPTIVE  267 


tion  of  the  women,  should  they  happen  to  be  looking 
toward  the  big  house,  he  went  inside  and  spoke  shortly 
to  the  two  men  he  had  brought  with  him. 

An  instant  later  the  three,  Carrington  leading,  rode 
into  the  timber  surrounding  the  house,  filed  silently 
through  it,  and  with  their  horses  in  a  slow  trot,  sank  down 
the  long  slope  that  led  into  the  big  basin. 

For  a  time  they  were  not  visible,  as  they  worked  their 
way  through  the  chaparral  on  a  little  level  near  the  bottom 
of  the  slope;  and  then  they  came  into  view  again  in  some 
tall  saccaton  grass  that  grew  as  high  as  the  backs  of  their 
horses. 

They  might  have  been  swimmnig  in  that  much  water, 
for  all  the  sound  they  made  as  they  headed  through  the 
grass  toward  the  Dawes  trail,  for  they  made  no  sound, 
and  only  their  heads  and  the  heads  bf  their  horses 
appeared  above  the  swaying  grass. 

But  they  were  seen.  Martha,  riding  at  a  little  distance 
behind  Marion,  and  straining  her  eyes  to  watch  the  trail 
ahead,  noted  the  movf^ent  in  the  saccaton,  and  called 
sharply  to  the  girl : 

"  They's  somethin'  movin'  in  that  grass  off  to  your 
right,  honey !  It  wouldn't  be  no  cattle,  heah ;  they's  never 
no  cattle  round  heah,  fo'  they  ain't  no  water.  Lawsy ! " 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  got  a  clear  view  of  them;  "it's 
men!" 

Marion  halted  her  horse.    Martha's  voice  had  startled 


268 THE  RANCHMAN 

her,  for  she  had  not  been  thinking  of  the  present;  her 
thoughts  had  been  centered  on  Taylor. 

!A!  shiver  of  trepidation  ran  over  her,  though,  when 
she  saw  the  men,  and  she  gathered  the  reins  tightly  in  her 
hands,  ready  to  wheel  the  animal  under  her  should  the 
appearance  of  the  men  indicate  the  imminence  of  danger. 

And  when  she  saw  that  danger  did  indeed  threaten,  she 
spoke  to  the  horse  and  turned  it  toward  the  back  trail. 
For  she  had  recognized  one  of  the  three  men  as 
Carrington. 

But  the  horse  had  not  taken  a  dozen  leaps  before  Car 
rington  was  beside  her,  his  hand  at  her  bridle.  And  as 
her  horse  came  to  a  halt,  Carrington's  animal  lunged 
against  it,  bringing  the  two  riders  close  together.  Car 
rington  leaned  over,  his  face  close  to  hers ;  she  could  feel 
his  breath  in  her  face  as  he  laughed  jeeringly,  his  voice 
vibrating  with  passion: 

"  So  it  is  you,  eh  ?  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  I  had 
made  a  mistake!"  Holding  to  her  horse's  bridle-rein 
with  a  steady  pull  that  kept  the  horses  close  together,  he 
spoke  sharply  to  the  two  men  who  had  halted  near 
Martha:  " Get  the  nigger !  I'll  take  care  of  this  one!" 

And  instantly,  with  a  brutal,  ruthless  strength  and 
energy  that  took  the  girl  completely  by  surprise,  Carring 
ton  threw  a  swift  arm  out,  grasped  her  by  the  waist,  drew 
her  out  of  the  saddle,  and  swung  her  into  his  own,  cross 
wise,  so  that  she  lay  face  up,  looking  at  him. 


THE  CAPTIVE  269 


She  fought  him  then,  silently,  ferociously,  though 
futilely.  For  he  caught  her  hands,  using  both  his  own, 
pinning  hers  so  that  she  could  not  use  them,  meanwhile 
laughing  lowly  at  her  efforts  to  escape. 

Even  in  the  dusk  she  could  see  the  smiling,  savage 
exultation  in  his  eyes;  the  gloating,  vindictive  triumph, 
and  her  soul  revolted  at  the  horror  in  store  for  her,  and 
the  knowledge  nerved  her  to  another  mighty  effort.  Tear 
ing  her  hands  free,  she  fought  him  again,  scratching  his 
face,  striking  him  with  all  her  force  with  her  fists; 
squirming  and  twisting,  even  biting  one  of  his  hands  when 
it  came  close  to  her  lips  as  he  essayed  to  grasp  her  throat, 
his  eyes  gleaming  with  ruthless  malignance. 

But  her  efforts  availed  little.  In  the  end  her  arms  were 
pinned  again  to  her  sides,  and  he  pulled  a  rope  from  his 
saddle-horn  and  bound  them.  Then,  as  she  lay  back  and 
glared  at  him,  muttering  imprecations  that  brought  a 
mocking  smile  to  his  lips,  he  urged  his  horse  forward, 
and  sent  it  clattering  up  the  slope,  the  two  men  following 
with  Martha. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

PARSONS  HAS  HUMAN  INSTINCTS 

ELAM  PARSONS  stood  on  the  front  porch  of  the 
Arrow  ranchhouse  for  a  long  time  after  Marion  and 
Martha  departed,  watching  them  as  they  slowly  negoti 
ated  the  narrow  trail  that  led  toward  Dawes.  Something 
of  the  man's  guilt  assailed  his  consciousness  as  he  stood 
there  —  a  conception  of  the  miserable  part  he  had  played 
in  the  girl's  life. 

No  doubt  had  not  Fate  and  Carrington  played  a  mean 
trick  on  Parsons,  in  robbing  him  of  his  money  and  his 
prospects,  the  man  would  not  have  entertained  the 
thoughts  he  entertained  at  this  moment ;  for  success  would 
have  made  a  reckoning  with  conscience  a  remote  possi 
bility,  dim  and  far. 

And  perhaps  it  was  not  conscience  that  was  now 
troubling  Parsons;  at  least  Parsons  did  not  lay  the  bur 
den  of  his  present  thoughts  upon  so  intangible  a  chimera. 
Parsons  was  too  much  of  a  materialist  to  admit  he  had 
a  conscience. 

But  a  twinge  of  something  seized  Parsons  as  he 
watched  the  girl  ride  away,  and  bitter  thoughts  racked 
his  soul.  He  could  not,  however,  classify  his  emotions, 

270 


PARSONS  HAS  HUMAN  INSTINCTS        271 

and  so  he  stood  there  on  the  porch,  undecided,  vacillating, 
in  the  grip  of  a  vague  disquiet. 

Parsons  sat  on  the  porch  until  long  after  noon;  for, 
after  Marion  and  Martha  had  vanished  into  the  haze  of 
distance,  Parsons  dropped  into  a  chair  and  let  his  chin 
sink  to  his  chest. 

He  did  not  get  up  to  prepare  food  for  himself;  he  did 
not  think  of  eating,  for  the  big,  silent  ranchhouse  and  the 
gloomy,  vacant  appearance  of  the  other  buildings  drew 
the  man's  attention  to  the  aching  emptiness  of  his  own 
life.  He  had  sought  to  gain  everything  —  scheming, 
planning,  plotting  dishonestly;  taking  unfair  advantage; 
robbing  people  without  compunction  —  and  he  had  gained 
nothing.  Yes  —  he  had  gained  Carrington' s  contempt! 

The  recollection  of  Carrington's  treatment  of  him  fired 
his  passions  with  a  thousand  licking,  leaping  flames.  In 
his  gloomy  meditations  over  the  departure  of  the  girl, 
he  had  almost  forgotten  Carrington.  But  he  thought  of 
Carrington  now;  and  he  sat  stiff  and  rigid  in  the  chair, 
glowering,  his  lips  in  a  pout,  his  soul  searing  with  hatred. 

But  even  the  nursing  of  that  passion  failed  to  satisfy 
Parsons.  Something'  lacked.  There  was  still  that  con 
viction  of  utter  baseness  —  his  own  baseness  —  to  torture 
him.  And  at  last,  toward  evening,  he  discovered  that  he 
longed  for  the  girl.  He  wanted  to  be  near  her;  he  wanted 
to  do  something  for  her  to  undo  the  wrong  he  had  done 
her;  he  wanted  to  make  some  sort  of  reparation. 


272 THE  RANCHMAN 

So  the  man  assured  himself.  But  he  knew  that  deep 
in  his  inner  consciousness  lurked  the  dread  knowledge 
that  Taylor  was  aware  of  his  baseness.  For  Taylor  had 
overheard  the  conversation  between  Carrington  and  him 
self  on  the  train,  and  Parsons  feared  that  should  Taylor 
by  any  chance  escape  Keats  and  his  men  and  return  to  the 
Arrow  to  find  Marion  gone,  he  would  vent  his  rage  and 
fury  upon  the  man  who  had  sinned  against  the  woman 
he  loved.  That  was  the  emotion  which  dominated  Par 
sons  as  he  sat  on  the  porch ;  it  was  the  emotion  that  made 
the  man  fervently  desire  to  make  reparation  to  the  girl; 
it  was  the  emotion  that  finally  moved  him  out  of  his  chair 
and  upon  a  horse  that  he  found  in  the  stable,  to  ride 
toward  Dawes  in  the  hope  of  finding  her. 

Parsons,  too,  stopped  at  the  Mullarky  cabin.  He  dis 
covered  that  Marion  had  left  there  shortly  before,  after 
having  refused  Mrs.  Mullarky's  proffer  of  shelter  until 
the  charge  against  Taylor  could  be  disproved. 

Parsons  listened  impatiently  to  the  woman's  voluble 
defense  of  Taylor,  and  her  condemnation  of  Keats  and 
all  those  who  were  leagued  against  the  Arrow  owner. 
And  then  Parsons  rode  on. 

Far  out  in  the  basin,  indistinct  in  the  twilight  haze, 
he  saw  Marion  and  Martha  riding  toward  Dawes,  and  he 
urged  his  horse  in  an  effort  to  come  up  with  them  before 
they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  long,  gradual  rise  that 
would  take  them  into  town. 


PARSONS  HAS  HUMAN  INSTINCTS        273 

Parsons  had  got  within  half  a  mile  of  them  when  he 
saw  them  halt  and  wait  the  coming  of  three  horsemen, 
who  advanced  toward  them  from  the  opposite  direction. 
Parsons  did  not  feel  like  joining  the  group,  for  just  at 
that  moment  he  felt  as  though  he  could  not  bear  to  have 
anyone  see  his  face  —  they  might  have  discovered  the 
guilt  in  it  —  and  so  he  waited. 

He  saw  the  three  men  ride  close  to  the  other  riders; 
he  watched  in  astonishment  while  one  of  the  strange 
riders  pursued  one  of  the  women,  catching  her. 

Parsons  saw  it  all.  But  he  did  not  ride  forward,  for 
he  was  in  the  grip  of  a  mighty  terror  that  robbed  him 
of  power  to  move.  For  he  knew  one  of  the  strange 
riders  was  Carrington.  He  would  have  recognized  him 
among  a  thousand  other  men. 

Parsons  watched  the  three  men  climb  the  big  slope 
that  led  to  the  great  house  on  the  flat-topped  hill.  For 
many  minutes  after  they  had  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill 
Parsons  sat  motionless  on  his  horse,  gazing  upward.  And 
when  he  saw  a  light  flare  up  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the 
big  house,  he  cursed,  his  face  convulsed  with  impotent 
rage. 

Marion  Harlan  did  not  yield  to  the  overpowering  weak 
ness  that  seized  her  after  she  realized  that  further  resis 
tance  to  Carrington  would  be  useless.  And  instead  of 
yielding  to  the  hysteria  that  threatened  her,  she  clenched 


274 THE  RANCHMAN 

her  hands  and  bit  her  lips  in  an  effort  to  retain  her  com 
posure.  She  succeeded.  And  during  the  progress  of  her 
captor's  horse  up  the  long  slope  she  kept  a  good  grip  on 
herself,  fortifying  herself  against  what  might  come  when 
she  and  her  captor  reached  the  big  house. 

When  they  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill,  Carrington 
ordered  the  two  men  to  take  Martha  around  to  the  back 
of  the  house  and  confine  her  in  one  of  the  rooms.  One 
man  was  to  guard  her.  The  other  was  to  wait  on  the 
front  porch  until  Carrington  called  him. 

The  girl  had  decided  to  make  one  more  struggle  when 
Carrington  dismounted  with  her,  but  though  she  fought 
hard  and  bitterly,  she  did  not  succeed  in  escaping  Car 
rington,  and  the  latter  finally  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  into  the  front  room,  the  room  in  which  Car 
rington  had  fought  with  Taylor  the  day  Taylor  had  killed 
the  three  men  who  had  ambushed  him. 

Carrington  lighted  a  lamp  —  it  was  this  light  Parsons 
had  seen  from  the  basin — placed  it  on  a  shelf,  and  in  its 
light  grinned  triumphantly  at  the  girl. 

"  Well,  we  are  here,"  he  said. 

In  his  voice  was  that  passion  that  had  been  in  it  that 
other  time,  when  he  had  pursued  her  into  the  house,  and 
she  had  escaped  him  by  hiding  in  the  attic.  She  cringed 
from  him,  backing  away  a  little,  and,  noting  the  move 
ment,  he  laughed  hoarsely. 

"  Don't  worry,"  he  said,  "  at  least  for  an  hour  or  two. 


p»-*'       PARSONS  HAS  HUMAN  INSTINCTS        275 

I've  got  something  more  important  on  my  mind.  Do  you 
know  what  it  is?"  he  demanded,  grinning  hugely.  "It's 
Taylor!"  He  suddenly  seemed  to  remember  that  he  did 
not  know  why  she  had  been  abroad  at  dusk  on  the  Dawes 
trail,  and  he  came  close  to  her. 

"  Did  you  see  Keats  today  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  meeting  his  gaze  fairly,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  scorn  and  contempt.  But  he  knew  from 
the  flame  in  her  eyes  that  she  had  seen  Keats,  and  he 
laughed  derisively. 

"  So  you  saw  him,"  he  jeered ;  "  and  you  know  that 
he  came  for  Taylor.  Did  he  find  Taylor  at  the  Arrow  ?  " 

Again  she  did  not  answer,  and  he  went  on,  suspecting 
that  Taylor  had  not  been  at  the  Arrow,  and  that  Keats 
had  gone  to  search  for  him.  "No,  Keats  didn't  find 
him  —  that's  plain  enough.  I  should  have  enjoyed  being 
there  to  hear  Keats  tell  you  that  Taylor  had  killed  your 
father.  You  heard  that,  didn't  you?  Yes,"  he  added,  his 
grin  broadening;  "you  heard  that.  So  that's  why  you 
left  the  Arrow!  Well,  I  don't  blame  you  for  leaving." 

He  turned  toward  the  door  and  wheeled  again  to  face 
her.  "You'll  enjoy  this,"  he  sneered;  "you've  been  so 
thick  with  Taylor.  Bah ! "  he  added  as  he  saw  her  face 
redden  at  the  insult;  "I've  known  where  you  stood  with 
Taylor  ever  since  I  caught  you  flirting  with  him  on 
the  station  platform  the  day  we  came  to  Dawes.  That's 
why  you  went  to  the  Arrow  from  here  —  refusing  my 


276 THE  RANCHMAN 

attentions  to  give  yourself  to  the  man  who  killed  your 
father!" 

He  laughed,  and  saw  her  writhe  under  the  sound  of  it. 

"It  hurts,  eh?"  he  said  venomously;  "well,  this  will 
hurt,  too.  Keats  went  out  to  get  Taylor,  but  he  will  never 
bring  Taylor  in  —  alive.  He  has  orders  to  kill  him  — 
understand?  That's  why  I've  got  more  important  busi 
ness  than  you  to  attend  to  for  the  next  few  hours.  I'm 
going  to  Dawes  to  find  out  if  Keats  has  returned.  And 
when  Keats  comes  in  with  the  news  that  Taylor  is  done 
for,  I'm  coming  back  here  for  you!" 

Calling  the  man  who  was  waiting  on  the  porch,  Car- 
rington  directed  him  to  watch  the  girl;  and  then,  with  a 
last  grin  at  her,  he  went  out,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode 
the  trail  toward  Dawes.  And  as  he  rode,  he  laughed 
maliciously,  for  he  had  not  told  her  that  the  charge  against 
Taylor  was  a  false  one,  and  that,  so  far  as  he  knew, 
Taylor  was  not  guilty  of  murdering  her  father. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  RESCUE 

AN  EARLY  moon  stuck  a  pallid  rim  over  the  crest 
of  the  big,  hill-like  plateau  as  Parsons  sat  on  his 
horse  in  the  basin,  and  Parsons  watched  it  rise  in  its 
silvery  splendor  and  bathe  the  world  with  an  effulgent 
glow.  It  threw  house  and  timber  on  the  plateau  crest  in 
bold  relief,  a  dark  silhouette  looming  against  a  flood  of 
shimmering  light,  and  Parsons  could  see  the  porch  he 
knew  so  well,  and  could  even  distinguish  the  break  in  the 
timber  that  led  to  the  house,  which  merged  into  the  trail 
that  stretched  to  Dawes. 

Parsons  was  still  laboring  with  the  devils  of  indecision 
and  doubt.  He  knew  why  Carrington  had  captured 
Marion,  and  he  yearned  to  take  the  girl  from  the  man  — 
for  her  own  sake,  and  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  his 
vengeance.  But  he  knew  that  certain  death  awaited  him 
up  there  should  he  venture  to  show  himself  to  Carrington. 
And  yet  a  certain  desperate  courage  stole  into  Parsons  as 
he  watched  from  the  basin,  and  when,  about  half  an  hour 
after  he  had  seen  the  flicker  of  light  filter  out  of  one  of  the 
windows  of  the  house,  he  saw  a  man  emerge,  mount  a 
horse,  and  ride  away,  he  drew  a  deep  breath  of  resolution 

277 


278 THE  RANCHMAN 

and  urged  his  own  horse  up  the  slope.  For  the  man  who 
had  mounted  the  horse  up  there  was  Carrington  —  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  that. 

Shivering,  though  still  obeying  the  courageous  impulse 
that  had  seized  him,  Parsons  continued  to  ascend  the 
slope.  He  went  half  way  and  then  halted,  listening.  No 
sound  disturbed  the  solemn  stillness  that  had  followed 
Carrington's  departure. 

Reassured,  though  by  this  time  he  was  sweating  coldly, 
Parsons  accomplished  the  remainder  of  the  intervening 
space  upward.  Far  back  in  the  timber  he  brought  his 
horse  to  a  halt,  dismounted,  and  again  listened.  Hearing 
nothing  that  alarmed  him,  except  a  loud,  angry  voice 
from  the  rear  of  the  house  —  a  voice  which  he  knew  as 
Martha's  —  he  cautiously  made  his  way  to  the  front 
porch,  tiptoed  across  it,  and  peered  stealthily  into  the 
room  out  of  which  the  light  still  shone,  its  flickering  rays 
stabbing  weakly  into  the  outside  darkness. 

Looking  into  the  room,  Parsons  could  see  Marion  sit 
ting  in  a  chair.  Her  hands  were  bound,  and  she  was 
leaning  back  in  the  chair,  her  hair  disheveled,  her  face 
chalk-white,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  a  haunting,  terrible 
dread.  Near  the  door,  likewise  seated  on  a  chair,  his 
back  to  the  big  room  that  adjoined  the  one  in  which  he 
sat,  was  a  villainous-looking  man  who  was  watching  the 
girl  with  a  leering  grin. 

The  sight  brought  a  murderous  passion  into  Parsons' 


A  RESCUE 279 

heart,  nerving  him  for  the  deed  that  instantly  suggested 
itself  to  him.  He  crept  off  the  porch  again,  moving 
stealthily  lest  he  make  the  slightest  sound  that  would 
warn  the  watcher  at  the  door,  and  searched  at  a  corner 
of  the  porch  until  he  found  what  he  was  looking  for  —  a 
heavy  club,  a  spoke  from  one  of  the  wheels  of  a 
wagon. 

Parsons  knew  about  where  to  find  it,  for  during  the 
days  that  he  had  sat  on  the  porch  nursing  his  resentment 
against  Carrington,  he  had  gazed  long  at  the  wagon- 
spoke,  wishing  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  to  use 
it  on  Carrington. 

He  took  it,  balancing  it,  testing  its  weight.  And  now 
a  hideous  terror  seized  him,  almost  paralyzing  him.  For 
though  Parsons  had  robbed  many  men,  he  had  never 
resorted  to  violence;  and  for  a  time  he  stood  with  the 
club  in  his  hand,  unable  to  move. 

He  moved  at  last,  though,  his  face  transformed  from 
the  strength  of  the  passion  that  had  returned,  and  he 
carefully  stepped  on  the  porch,  crossed  it,  and  stood,  lean 
ing  forward,  peering  into  the  room  through  the  outside 
door  left  open  by  Carrington.  The  outside  door  opened 
from  the  big  room  adjoining  that  in  which  the  watcher 
sat,  and  Parsons  could  see  the  man,  who,  with  his  back 
toward  the  door,  was  still  looking  at  Marion. 

Entering  the  big  room,  Parsons  saw  Marion's  eyes 
widen  as  she  looked  full  at  him.  He  shook  his  head  at 


280  THE  RANCHMAN 

her;  her  face  grew  whiter,  and  she  began  to  talk  to  the 
other  man. 

Only  a  second  or  two  elapsed  then  until  Parsons  struck. 
The  man  rolled  out  of  his  chair  without  a  sound,  and 
Parsons,  leaping  over  him,  trembling,  his  breath  coming 
in  great  gasps,  ran  to  Marion  and  unbound  her  hands. 

Together  they  flew  outside,  where  they  found  the  girl's 
horse  tethered  near  a  tree,  and  Parsons'  animal  standing 
where  he  had  left  it. 

Mounting,  the  girl  whispered  to  Parsons.  She  was 
trembling,  and  her  voice  broke  with  a  wailing  quaver 
when  she  spoke: 

"Where  shall  we  go,  Elam  —  where?  We  —  I  can't 
go  back  to  the  Arrow!  Oh,  I  just  can't!  And  Carring- 
ton  will  be  back!  Oh!  isn't  there  any  way  to  escape 
him?" 

"  We'll  go  to  Dawes,  girl ;  that's  where  we'll  go ! "  de 
clared  Parsons,  his  dread  and  fear  of  the  big  man  equal 
ing  that  of  the  girl.  We'll  go  to  Dawes  and  tell  them 
there  just  what  kind  of  a  man  Carrington  is  —  and  what 
he  has  tried  to  do  with  you  tonight !  There  must  be  some 
men  in  Dawes  who  will  not  stand  by  and  see  a  woman 
persecuted ! " 

And  as  they  rode  the  river  trail  toward  the  town,  the 
girl,  white  and  silent,  riding  a  little  distance  ahead  of  him, 
Parsons  felt  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  tingling  thrills 
that  come  of  an  unselfish  deed  courageously  performed. 


A  RESCUE 281 

And  the  experience  filled  him  with  the  spirit  to  do  other 
good  and  unselfish  deeds. 

They  rode  fast  for  a  time,  until  the  girl  again  spoke 
of  Carrington's  announced  intention  to  return  shortly. 
Then  they  rode  more  cautiously,  and  it  was  well  they  did. 
For  they  had  almost  reached  Dawes  when  they  heard  the 
whipping  tread  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  trail,  coming 
toward  them.  They  rode  well  back  from  the  trail,  and, 
concealed  by  some  heavy  brush,  saw  Carrington  riding 
toward  the  big  house.  He  went  past  them,  vanishing  into 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  that  fringed  the  trail,  and  for 
a  long  time  the  girl  and  Parsons  did  not  move  for  fear 
Carrington  might  have  slowed  his  horse  and  would  hear 
them.  And  when  they  did  come  out  of  their  concealment 
and  were  again  on  the  Dawes  trail,  they  rode  fast,  with 
the  dread  of  Carrington's  wrath  to  spur  them  on. 

It  had  been  Martha's  voice  that  Parsons  had  heard 
when  he  had  been  standing  in  the  timber  near  the  front 
of  the  house.  The  negro  woman  was  walking  back  and 
forth  in  the  room  where  her  captor  had  confined  her, 
vigorously  berating  the  man.  She  was  a  dusky  thunder 
cloud  of  wrath,  who  rumbled  verbal  imprecations  with 
every  breath.  Her  captor  —  a  small  man  with  a  coarse 
voice,  a  broken  nose,  and  a  scraggy,  drooping  mustache  — > 
stood  in  the  doorway  looking  at  her  fiercely,  with  obvious 
intent  to  intimidate  the  indignant  Amazon. 


282 THE  RANCHMAN 

At  the  instant  Parsons  heard  her  voice  she  was  con 
fronting  the  man,  her  eyes  popping  with  fury. 

"You  let  me  out  of  heah  this  minute,  yo'  white  trash! 
Yo'  heah!  An'  doan'  you  think  Fs  scared  of  you,  'cause 
I  ain't!  If  you  doan'  hop  away  from  that  do',  I's  goin' 
to  mash  yo'  haid  in  wif  this  yere  chair!  You  git  away; 
now!" 

The  man  grinned.  It  was  a  forced  grin,  and  his  face 
whitened  with  it,  betraying  to  Martha  the  fear  he  felt  of 
her  —  which  she  had  suspected  from  the  moment  he  had 
brought  her  in  and  the  light  from  the  kitchen  lamp  shone 
on  his  face. 

She  took  a  threatening  step  toward  him;  a  tentative 
movement,  a  testing  of  his  courage.  And  when  she  saw 
him  retreat  from  her  slightly,  she  lunged  at  him,  raising 
the  chair  she  held  in  her  hands. 

Possibly  the  man  was  reluctant  to  resort  to  violence; 
he  may  have  had  a  conviction  that  the  detaining  of 
Martha  was  not  at  all  necessary  to  the  success  of  Carring- 
ton's  plan  to  subjugate  the  white  girl,  or  he  might  have 
been  merely  afraid  of  Martha.  Whatever  his  thoughts, 
the  man  continued  to  retreat  from  the  negro  woman,  and 
as  she  pursued  him,  her  courage  grew,  and  the  man's 
vanished  in  inverse  ratio.  And  as  he  passed  the  center 
of  the  kitchen,  he  wheeled  and  ran  out  of  the  door,  Martha 
following  him. 

Outside,  the  man  ran  toward  the  stable.    For  an  instant 


A  RESCUE 283 

Martha  stood  looking  after  him.  Then,  thinking  Car- 
rington  was  still  in  the  house,  and  that  there  was  no  hope 
of  her  frightening  him  as  she  had  frightened  the  little 
man  who  had  stood  guard  over  her,  she  ran  to  where  her 
horse  stood,  clambered  into  the  saddle,  and  sent  the  animal 
down  the  big  slope  toward  Mullarky's  cabin,  where  she 
hoped  to  find  Mullarky,  to  send  him  to  the  big  house  to 
rescue  the  girl  from  Carrington. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

TAYLOR  BECOMES  RILED 

BY  THE  time  Bud  Hemmingway  had  finished  his  gro 
tesque  expression  of  the  delight  that  had  seized  him, 
and  had  got  to  his  knees  and  was  grinning  widely  at 
Taylor,  the  horses  of  the  Arrow  outfit  were  running  down 
the  neck  of  the  gorge,  their  hoofs  drumming  on  the  hard 
floor  of  the  bottom,  awakening  echoes  that  filled  the  gorge 
with  an  incessant  rumbling  clatter  that  might  have  caused 
one  to  think  a  regiment  of  cavalry  was  advancing  at  a 
gallop. 

Bud  turned  his  gaze  up  the  gorge  and  saw  them. 

"  Ain't  they  great ! "  he  yelled  at  Taylor.  The  leap  in 
Bud's  voice  betrayed  something  of  the  strained  tenseness 
with  which  the  man  had  endured  his  besiegement. 

And  now  that  there  was  an  even  chance  for  him,  Bud's 
old  humorous  and  carefree  impulses  were  again  ascend 
ant.  He  got  to  his  feet,  grinning,  the  spirit  of  battle  in  his 
eyes,  and  threw  a  shot  at  a  Keats  man,  far  up  on  a  hillside, 
who  had  left  his  concealment  and  was  running  upward. 
At  the  report  of  the  rifle  the  man  reeled,  caught  himself, 
and  continued  to  clamber  upward,  another  bullet  from 
Bud's  rifle  throwing  up  a  dust  spray  at  his  feet 

284 


TAYLOR  BECOMES  RILED 285 

Other  figures  were  now  running;  the  slopes  of  the  hills 
in  the  vicinity  were  dotted  with  moving  black  spots  as 
the  Keats  men,  also  hearing  the  clattering  of  hoofs,  and 
divining  that  their  advantage  was  gone,  made  a  concerted 
break  for  their  horses,  which  they  had  hidden  in  a  ravine 
beyond  the  hills. 

Taylor  did  not  do  any  shooting.  While  Bud  was  stand 
ing  erect  among  the  pile  of  rocks  which  had  served  as  a 
shelter  for  him  during  the  afternoon,  his  rifle  growing 
hot  in  his  hands,  and  picturesque  curses  issued  from  his 
lips,  Taylor  walked  to  Spotted  Tail  and  tightened  the 
saddle  cinches.  This  task  did  not  take  him  long,  but  by 
the  time  it  was  finished  the  Arrow  outfit  had  dispersed 
the  Keats  men,  who  were  fleeing  toward  Dawes  in 
scattered  units. 

Bothwell,  big  and  grim,  rode  to  where  Taylor  was 
standing,  his  voice  booming  as  he  looked  sharply  at 
Taylor. 

"  I  reckon  we  got  here  just  in  time,  boss ! "  he  said. 
"They  didn't  git  you  or  Bud?  No?"  at  Taylor's  grin. 
"Well,  we're  wipin'  them  out  — that's  all!  That  Keats 
bunch  can't  run  in  no  raw  deal  like  that  on  the  Arrow  — • 
not  while  I'm  range  boss.  Law?  Bah!  Every  damned 
man  that  runs  with  Keats  would  have  stretched  hemp 
before  this  if  they'd  have  been  any  law  in  the  country! 
A  clean-up,  eh  —  that's  what  they  tryin'  to  pull  off.  Well, 
watch  my  smoke!" 


286 THE  RANCHMAN 

His  voice  leaping  with  passion,  Both  well  slapped  his 
horse  sharply,  and  as  the  animal  leaped  down  the  trail 
toward  Dawes,  Both  well  shouted  to  the  other  men  of  the 
outfit,  who  had  halted  at  a  little  distance  back  in  the 
gorge: 

" Come  a  runnin',  you  yaps!  That  ornery  bunch  can't 
git  out  of  this  section  without  hittin'  the  basin  trail ! " 

Bothwell  and  the  others  fled  down  the  gorge  like  a 
devastating  whirlwind  before  Taylor  could  offer  a  word 
of  objection. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Taylor  had  paid  little  attention  to 
Bothwell's  threats.  He  knew  that  the  big  range  boss  was 
in  a  bitter  rage,  and  he  had  been  aware  of  the  ill-feeling 
that  had  existed  for  some  time  between  Keats  and  his 
friends  and  the  men  of  the  Arrow  outfit. 

But  the  deserved  punishment  of  Keats  was  not  the 
burden  his  mind  carried  at  this  instant.  Dominating  every 
other  thought  in  Taylor's  brain  was  the  obvious,  naked 
fact  that  Carrington  had  struck  at  him  again;  that  he 
had  struck  underhandedly,  as  usual;  and  that  he  would 
continue  to  fight  with  that  method  until  he  was  victorious 
or  beaten. 

And  yet  Taylor  was  not  so  much  concerned  over  the 
blow  that  had  been  aimed  at  him  as  he  was  of  its  probable 
effect  upon  Marion  Harlan.  For  of  course  the  girl  had 
heard  of  the  charge  by  this  time  —  or  she  would  hear  of 
it.  i  It  would  be  all  the  same  in  the  end.  And  at  a  blow 


TAYLOR  BECOMES  RILED 287 

the  girl's  faith  in  him  would  be  destroyed  —  the  faith  that 
he  had  been  nurturing,  and  upon  which  he  had  built  his 
hopes. 

To  be  sure  he  had  Larry  Harlan's  note  to  show  her,  to 
convince  her  of  his  innocence,  but  he  knew  that  once  the 
poison  of  suspicion  and  doubt  got  into  her  heart,  she  could 
never  give  him  that  complete  confidence  of  which  he  had 
dreamed.  She  might,  now  that  Carrington  had  spread 
his  poison,  conclude  that  he  had  forged  the  note,  trusting 
in  it  to  disarm  the  suspicions  of  herself  and  of  the  world. 
And  if  she  were  to  demand  why  he  had  not  shown  her  the 
note  before  —  when  she  had  first  come  to  the  Arrow  — 
he  could  not  tell  her  that  he  had  determined  never  to  show 
it  to  her,  lest  she  understand  that  he  knew  her  mother's 
sordid  history.  That  secret,  he  had  promised  himself,  she 
would  never  know;  nor  would  she  ever  know  of  the 
vicious  significance  of  that  conversation  he  had  overheard 
between  Carrington  and  Parsons  on  the  train  coming  to 
Dawes.  He  was  convinced  that  if  she  knew  these  things 
she  would  never  be  able  to  look  him  in  the  eyes  again. 

Therefore,  knowing  the  damage  Carrington  had 
wrought  by  bringing  the  charge  of  murder  against  him, 
Taylor's  rage  was  now  definitely  centered  upon  his  enemy. 
The  pursuit  and  punishment  of  Keats  was  a  matter  of 
secondary  consideration  in  his  mind  —  Bothwell  and  the 
men  of  the  outfit  would  take  care  of  the  man.  But  Taylor 
could  no  longer  fight  off  the  terrible  rage  that  had  seized 


268 THE  RANCHMAN 

him  over  the  knowledge  of  Carrington's  foul  methods, 
and  when  he  mounted  Spotted  Tail  and  urged  him  down 
the  trail  toward  the  Arrow  ranchhouse,  there  was  a  set 
to  his  lips  that  caused  Norton,  who  had  brought  his  horse 
to  a  halt  near  him,  to  look  sharply  at  him  and  draw  a 
quick  breath. 

Not  speaking  to  Norton,  nor  to  Bud  —  who  had  also 
remained  to  watch  him — Taylor  straightened  Spotted 
Tail  to  the  trail  and  sent  him  flying  toward  the  Arrow. 
Taylor  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  nor  did  he 
speak  to  Norton  and  Bud,  who  rode  hard  after  him. 
Down  the  trail  at  a  point  where  the  neck  of  the  gorge 
broadened  and  merged  into  the  grass  level  that  stretched, 
ever  widening,  to  the  Arrow,  Spotted  Tail  and  his  rider 
flashed  past  a  big  cluster  of  low  hills  from  which  came 
flame-streaks  and  the  sharp,  cracking  reports  of  rifles,  the 
yells  of  men  in  pain,  and  the  hoarse  curses  of  men  in  the 
grip  of  the  fighting  rage. 

But  Taylor  might  not  have  heard  the  sounds.  Cer 
tainly  he  could  not  have  seen  the  flame-streaks,  unless  he 
glimpsed  them  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  for  he  did 
not  turn  his  head  as  he  urged  Spotted  Tail  on,  speeding 
him  over  the  great  green  sweep  of  grass  at  a  pace  that 
the  big  horse  had  never  yet  been  ridden. 

Laboring  behind  him,  for  they  knew  that  something 
momentous  impended,  Norton  and  Bud  tried  their  best  to 
keep  up  with  the  flying  beast  ahead  of  them.  But  the 


TAYLOR  BECOMES  RILED  289 

sorrel  ridden  by  Norton,  and  even  the  great,  rangy,  lion- 
hearted  King,  could  not  hold  the  pace  that  Spotted  Tail 
set  for  them,  and  they  fell  slowly  back  until,  when  still 
several  miles  from  the  Arrow,  horse  and  rider  vanished 
into  the  dusk  ahead  of  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

RETRIBUTION 

TWICE  descending  the  long  slope  leading  to  the 
basin,  Martha's  horse  stumbled.  The  first  time 
the  negro  woman  lifted  him  to  his  feet  by  jerking  sharply 
on  the  reins,  but  when  he  stumbled  the  second  time, 
Martha  was  not  alert  and  the  horse  went  to  his  knees. 
Unprepared,  Martha  was  jolted  out  of  the  saddle  and  she 
fell  awkwardly,  landing  on  her  right  shoulder  with  a 
force  that  knocked  the  breath  out  of  her. 

She  lay  for  a  short  time,  gasping,  her  body  racked  with 
pain,  and  at  last,  when  she  succeeded  in  getting  to  her 
feet,  the  horse  had  strayed  some  little  distance  from  her 
and  was  quietly  browsing  the  tops  of  some  saccaton. 

It  was  several  minutes  before  Martha  caught  the  animal 
—  several  minutes  during  which  she  loosed  some  pictur 
esque  and  original  profanity  that  caused  the  experienced 
range  horse  to  raise  his  ears  inquiringly. 

Then,  when  she  caught  the  horse,  she  had  some  trouble 
getting  into  the  saddle,  though  she  succeeded  after  a 
while,  groaning,  and  grunting,  and  whimpering. 

But  Martha  forgot  her  pains  and  misery  once  she  was 
in  the  saddle  again,  and  she  rode  fast,  trembling  with 

290 


RETRIBUTION  291 


eagerness,  her  sympathies  and  her  concern  solely  for  the 
white  girl  who,  she  supposed,  was  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
of  the  ruthless  and  unprincipled  man  that  Martha, 
with  her  limited  vocabulary,  had  termed  many  times  a 
"  rapscallion." 

Martha  headed  her  horse  straight  for  the  Mullarky 
cabin,  guided  by  a  faint  shaft  of  light  that  issued  from 
one  of  its  windows. 

When  she  reached  the  cabin  she  found  no  one  there  but 
Mrs.  Mullarky.  Ben,  Mrs.  Mullarky  told  Martha,  had 
gone  to  Dawes  —  in  fact,  he  had  been  in  Dawes  all  day, 
she  supposed,  for  he  had  left  home  early  that  morning. 

Martha  gasped  out  her  news,  and  Mrs.  Mullarky's  face 
whitened.  While  Martha  watched  her  in  astonishment, 
she  tore  off  the  gingham  apron  that  adorned  her,  threw 
it  into  a  corner,  and  ran  into  another  room,  from  which 
she  emerged  an  instant  later  carrying  a  rifle. 

The  Irishwoman's  face  was  pale  and  set,  and  the  light 
of  a  great  wrath  gleamed  in  her  eyes.  Martha,  awed  by 
the  woman's  belligerent  appearance,  could  only  stand  and 
blink  at  her,  her  mouth  gaping  with  astonishment. 

"You  go  right  on  to  the  Arrow!"  she  commanded 
Martha,  as  she  went  out  of  the  door;  "mebbe  you'll  find 
somebody  there  by  this  time,  an'  if  you  do,  send  them  to 
the  big  house.  I'm  goin'  over  there  right  this  minute  to 
take  that  dear  little  girl  away  from  that  big  brute ! " 

She  started  while  Martha  was  again  painfully  mount- 


292 THE  RANCHMAN 

ing  her  horse,  and  the  two  women  rode  away  in  opposite 
directions — Martha  whimpering  with  pain,  and  Mrs. 
Mullarky  silent,  grim,  with  a  wild  rage  gripping  her  heart. 

Taylor,  on  Spotted  Tail,  was  approaching  the  Arrow 
ranchhouse  at  a  speed  slightly  greater  than  that  into  which 
the  big  horse  had  fallen  shortly  after  he  had  left  the  gorge. 
The  spirited  animal  was  just  warming  to  his  work,  and 
he  was  doing  his  best  when  he  flashed  past  the  big  cattle 
corral,  going  with  the  noise  of  rushing  wind.  In  an  in 
stant  he  was  at  the  long  stretch  of  fence  which  formed  the 
ranchyard  side  of  the  horse  corral,  and  in  another  instant 
he  was  sliding  to  a  halt  near  the  edge  of  the  front  porch 
of  the  ranchhouse  itself.  There  he  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  looked  inquiringly  at  his  master,  while  the  latter  slid 
off  his  back,  leaped  upon  the  porch,  and  with  a  bound 
crossed  the  porch  floor,  knocking  chairs  helter-skelter  as 
he  went. 

The  house  was  dark,  but  Taylor  ran  through  the  rooms, 
tailing  sharply  for  Parsons  and  Marion,  but  receiving  no 
reply.  When  he  emerged  from  the  house  his  face,  in  the 
light  of  the  moon  that  had  climbed  above  the  horizon 
some  time  before,  was  like  that  of  a  man  who  has  just 
looked  upon  the  dead  face  of  his  best  friend. 

For  Taylor  was  convinced  that  he  had  looked  upom 
death  in  the  ranchhouse  —  upon  the  death  of  his  hopes. 
He  stood  for  an  instant  on  the  porch,  while  his  passions 


RETRIBUTION  293 


raged  through  him,  and  then  with  a  laugh  of  bitter  humor 
lie  leaped  on  Spotted  Tail. 

Half-way  to  the  Mullarky  cabin,  with  the  big  horse 
running  like  the  wind,  Taylor  saw  a  shape  looming  out 
of  the  darkness  ahead  of  him.  He  pulled  Spotted  Tail 
down,  and  loosed  one  of  his  pistols,  and  approached  the 
shape  warily,  his  muscles  stiff  and  taut  and  ready  for 
action. 

But  it  was  only  Martha  who  rode  up  to  him.  Her  for 
titude  gone,  her  pains  convulsing  her,  she  wailed  to  Taylor 
the  story  of  the  night's  tragic  adventure. 

"An'  Carrington's  got  missy  in  the  big  house!"  she 
concluded,  "  She  fit  him  powerful  hard,  but  it  was  no 
use  —  that  rapscallion  too  much  fo'  her ! " 

She  shouted  the  last  words  at  Taylor,  for  Spotted  Tail 
had  received  a  jab  in  the  sides  with  the  rowels  that  hurt 
him  cruelly,  and,  angered,  he  ran  like  a  deer  with  the 
hungry  cry  of  a  wolf-pack  in  his  ears. 

Like  a  black  streak  they  rushed  by  Mrs.  Mullarky,  who 
breathed  a  fervent,  "  Oh,  thank  the  Lord,  it's  Taylor ! " 
and  before  the  good  woman  could  catch  her  breath  again, 
Spotted  Tail  and  his  rider  had  opened  a  huge,  yawning 
space  between  himself  and  the  laboring  horse  the  woman 
rode. 

Riding  with  all  his  muscles  taut  as  bowstrings,  and  a 
terrible,  constricting  pressure  across  his  chest  —  so  mighty 
;were  the  savage  passions  that  rioted  within  him  —  Taylor 


294 THE  RANCHMAN 

reached  the  foot  of  the  long  slope  that  led  to  the  big 
house,  and  sent  Spotted  Jail  tearing  upward  with  rapid, 
desperate  leaps. 

When  Carrington  reached  the  big  house  soon  after  he 
had  unknowingly  passed  Marion  Harlan  and  Parsons  on 
the  river  trail,  he  was  in  a  sullen,  impatient  mood. 

For  no  word  concerning  Keats's  movements  had  reached 
Dawes,  and  Carrington  was  afflicted  with  a  gloomy  pre 
sentiment  that  something  had  happened  to  the  man  — 
that  he  had  not  been  able  to  locate  Taylor,  or  that  he  had 
found  him  and  Taylor  had  succeeded  in  escaping  him. 

Carrington  did  not  go  at  once  into  the  house,  for  cap 
tive  though  she  was,  and  completely  within  his  power, 
he  did  not  want  the  girl  to  see  him  in  his  present  mood. 
Lighting  a  cigar,  and  chewing  it  viciously,  he  walked  to 
the  stable.  There,  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  building, 
he  came  upon  the  guard  Martha  had  routed.  He  spoke 
sharply  to  the  man,  asking  him  why  he  was  not  inside 
guarding  the  "nigger." 

The  man  brazenly  announced  that  Martha  had  escaped 
him,  omitting  certain  details  and  substituting  others  from 
his  imagination. 

"If  she  hadn't  been  a  woman,  now,"  added  the  man 
in  self-extenuation. 

Carrington  laughed  lowly.  "  We  didn't  need  her,  any 
way,"  he  said,  and  the  other  laughed  with  him. 


RETRIBUTION  295 


The  laugh  restored  Carrington's  good-nature,  and  he 
left  the  man  and  went  into  the  front  room  of  the  house. 
Had  he  paused  on  the  porch  to  listen,  or  had  he  glanced 
toward  the  big  slope  that  dropped  to  the  basin,  he  would 
not  have  entered  the  house  just  then.  And  he  would  have 
paused  on  the  porch  had  it  not  been  that  the  intensity 
of  his  desires  drove  him  to  concentrate  all  his  senses  upon 
Marion. 

He  crossed  the  porch  and  entered  the  room,  and  then 
halted,  staring  downward  with  startled  eyes  at  the  body 
of  the  guard  huddled  on  the  floor,  a  thin  stream  of  blood 
staining  the  carpet  beneath  his  head. 

Cursing,  Carrington  stepped  into  the  other  room  — 
the  room  in  which  he  had  fought  with  Taylor  —  the  room 
in  which  he  had  left  Marion  Harlan  bound  and  sitting  on 
a  chair.  The  lamp  on  the  shelf  was  still  burning,  and  in 
its  light  Carrington  saw  the  rope  he  had  used  to  bind  the 
girl's  hands. 

A  bitter  rage  seized  him  as  he  looked  at  the  rope,  and 
he  threw  it  from  him,  cursing.  In  an  instant  he  was  out 
side  the  house  and  had  leaped  upon  his  horse.  He  headed 
the  animal  toward  the  long  slope  leading  to  the  Arrow 
trail,  for  he  suspected  the  girl  would  go  straight  back 
there,  despite  any  conviction  she  might  have  of  Taylor's 
guilt —  foi  there  she  would  find  Parsons,  who  would  give 
her  what  comfort  he  could.  Or  she  might  stop  at  the 
Mullarky  cabin.  Certainly  she  would  not  go  to  Dawes, 


296 THE  RANCHMAN 

'for  she  must  know  that  he  ruled  Dawes  —  Parsons  must 
have  told  her  that  —  and  that  if  she  went  to  Dawes,  she 
would  be  merely  postponing  her  surrender  to  him. 

He  had  plenty  of  time,  even  if  she  were  in  Dawes,  he 
meditated  as  he  sent  his  horse  over  the  crest  of  the  slope, 
for  there  were  no  trains  out  of  the  town  during  the  night, 
and  if  she  were  not  at  the  Arrow  or  Mullarky's,  he  was 
sure  to  catch  her  later. 

He  was  half-way  down  the  slope,  his  horse  making  slow 
work  of  threading  its  way  through  the  gnarled  chaparral 
growth,  when,  looking  downward,  he  saw  another  horse 
leaping  up  the  slope  toward  him. 

In  the  glare  of  the  moon  that  was  behind  Carrington, 
he  could  see  horse  and  rider  distinctly,  and  he  jerked  his 
own  horse  to  a  halt,  cursing  horribly.  For  the  horse  that 
was  leaping  toward  him  like  a  black  demon  out  of  the 
night  was  Spotted  Tail.  And  Spotted  Tail's  rider  was 
Taylor.  Carrington  could  see  the  man's  face,  with  the 
terrible  passion  that  distorted  it,  and  Carrington  wheeled 
his  horse,  making  frenzied  efforts  to  escape  up  the  slope. 

Carrington  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  feet  from  the 
big  black  horse  and  its  indomitable  rider  when  he  wheeled 
his  own  animal,  and  he  had  not  traveled  more  than  a  few 
feet  when  he  realized  that  Spotted  Tail  was  gaining 
rapidly. 

Cursing  again,  though  his  face  was  ghastly  with  the 
fear  that  had  seized  him,  Carrington  slipped  from  his 


RETRIBUTION  297 


horse,  and,  running  around  so  that  the  animal  was  be 
tween  him  and  Taylor,  he  drew  a  heavy  pistol  from  a  hip- 
pocket.  And  when  the  oncoming  horse  and  rider  were 
within  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  of  him,  Carrington  took 
deliberate  aim  and  fired. 

He  grinned  vindictively  as  he  saw  Taylor  reel  in  the 
saddle,  and  he  fired  again,  and  saw  Taylor  drop  to  the 
ground  beside  Spotted  Tail. 

Carrington  could  not  tell  whether  his  second  shot  had 
struck  Taylor,  and  before  he  could  shoot  again,  Taylor 
dove  headlong  toward  a  jagged  rock  that  thrust  a  bulging 
shoulder  upward.  Carrington  threw  a  snapshot  at  him 
as  he  leaped,  but  again  he  could  not  have  told  whether  the 
bullet  had  gone  home. 

Keeping  the  horse  between  himself  and  the  rock  behind 
which  Taylor  had  thrown  himself,  Carrington  leaped 
behind  another  that  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  chaparral 
clump  through  which  he  had  been  riding  when  he  had 
seen  Taylor  coming  up  the  slope.  Seeming  to  sense  their 
danger,  both  horses  slowly  moved  off  out  of  the  line  of 
fire  and  proceeded  unconcernedly  to  browse  the  clumps 
of  grass  that  dotted  the  side  of  the  slope. 

And  now  began  a  long,  strained  silence.  Carrington 
could  see  Taylor's  rock,  but  it  was  at  the  edge  of  the 
chaparral,  and  Taylor  might  easily  slip  into  the  chaparral 
and  begin  a  circling  movement  that  would  bring  him 
behind  Carrington.  The  thought  brought  a  damp  sweat 


298 THE  RANCHMAN ___^ 

out  upon  Carrington's  forehead,  and  he  began  to  cast 
fearing  glances  toward  the  chaparral  at  his  side.  He 
watched  it  long,  and  the  longer  he  watched,  the  greater 
grew  his  fear.  And  at  last,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour, 
the  fear  grew  to  a  conviction  that  Taylor  was  stalking 
him  in  the  chaparral.  No  longer  able  to  endure  the  sus 
pense,  Carrington  left  the  shelter  of  his  rock  and  began 
to  work  his  way  around  the  edge  of  the  chaparral 
clump. 

Taylor  had  felt  the  heat  and  the  shock  of  Carrington's 
first  bullet,  and  he  knew  it  had  gone  into  his  left  arm, 
The  second  bullet  had  missed  him  cleanly,  and  he  landed 
behind  the  rock,  with  all  his  senses  alert,  paying  no 
attention  to  his  wound. 

He  had  recognized  Carrington,  and  with  the  cold  calm 
that  comes  with  implacable  determination,  Taylor  in 
stantly  began  to  take  an  inventory  of  the  hazards  and 
the  advantages  of  his  position.  And  after  his  examina 
tion  was  concluded,  he  dropped  to  his  hands  and  knees 
and  began  to  work  his  way  into  the  chaparral. 

He  moved  cautiously,  for  he  knew  that  should  he  dis 
turb  the  rank  growth  he  would  disclose  his  whereabouts 
to  Carrington,  should  the  latter  have  gained  a  vantageous 
point  from  where  he  could  watch  the  thicket  for  just  such 
signs  of  Taylor's  presence. 

But  Taylor  made  no  such  signs ;  he  had  not  spent  the 
greater  part  of  his  life  in  the  open  to  be  outdone  in  this 


RETRIBUTION  299 


grim  strategy  by  an  eastern  man.  He  grinned  wickedly 
at  the  thought. 

He  suspected  that  Carrington  might  try  the  very  trick 
he  himself  was  trying,  and  that  thought  made  him  wary. 

Working  his  way  into  the  thicket,  he  at  last  reached 
a  point  near  its  center,  upon  a  slight  mound  surrounded 
by  stunt  oak  and  quivering  aspen.  There,  concealed  and 
alert,  he  waited  for  Carrington  to  show  himself. 

Carrington,  though,  did  not  betray  his  presence  in  the 
thicket.  For  Carrington  was  not  in  the  thicket  when 
Taylor  reached  its  center.  Carrington  had  started  into 
the  thicket,  but  he  had  not  proceeded  very  far  when  he 
began  to  be  afflicted  with  a  dread  premonition  of  Taylor's 
presence  somewhere  in  the  vicinity. 

A  clammy  sweat  broke  out  on  the  big  man;  a  panic  of 
fear  seized  him,  and  he  began  to  creep  backward,  out  of 
the  thicket.  And  by  the  time  Taylor  reached  his  vantage- 
point,  Carrington  was  crouching  at  the  thicket's  edge, 
near  the  rock  where  he  had  been  concealed,  oppressed 
with  a  conviction  that  Taylor  was  working  his  way 
toward  him  through  the  thicket. 

The  big  man  waited,  his  nerves  taut,  his  muscles  quiv 
ering  and  cringing  at  the  thought  that  any  instant  a 
bullet  sent  at  him  by  Taylor  might  strike  him.  For  he 
knew  that  Taylor  had  come  for  him;  he  was  now  con 
vinced  that  Marion  Harlan  had  gone  to  the  Arrow,  that 
she  had  told  Taylor  what  had  happened  to  her,  and  that 


300 THE  RANCHMAN 

Taylor  had  come  straight  to  the  big  house  to  punish 
him  for  his  misdeeds. 

And  Carrington  had  a  dread  of  the  sort  of  punishment 
Taylor  had  dealt  him  upon  a  former  occasion,  and  he 
wanted  no  more  of  it.  That  was  why  he  had  used  his 
pistol  instantly  upon  recognizing  Taylor.  He  wished, 
now,  that  he  had  not  been  so  hasty;  for  he  had  taken 
the  initiative,  and  Taylor  would  not  scruple  to  imitate 
him. 

In  fact,  he  was  so  certain  that  at  that  moment  Taylor 
was  creeping  upon  him  from  some  point  with  the  fury 
of  murder  in  his  heart,  that  he  got  to  his  feet  and,  look 
ing  over  the  top  of  the  rock,  searched  with  wild  eyes 
for  his  horse.  And  when  he  saw  the  animal  not  more 
than  twenty  or  thirty  feet  from  him,  he  could  not  longer 
resist  the  panic  that  had  seized  him.  Crouching,  he 
ran  for  several  yards  on  his  hands  and  feet  and  then, 
nearing  his  horse,  he  stood  upright  and  ran  for  it. 

As  he  ran  he  cringed,  for  he  expected  a  pistol-shot  to 
greet  his  appearance  at  the  side  of  his  horse.  But  no 
report  came,  and  he  reached  the  horse,  threw  himself 
into  the  saddle  and  raced  the  animal  down  the  slope. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  pulse  of  elation,  for  he  thought 
he  had  eluded  Taylor,  but  just  as  his  horse  struck  the 
edge  of  the  big  level  Carrington  looked  back,  to  see 
Spotted  Tail  slipping  down  the  slope  with  a  smooth  swift 
ness  that  terrified  the  big  man. 


RETRIBUTION  301 


He  turned  then  and  began  to  ride  as  he  had  never 
ridden  before.  The  animal  under  him  was  strong,  cour 
ageous,  and  speedy ;  but  Carrington  knew  he  would  have 
need  of  all  those  sterling  qualities  if  he  hoped  to  escape 
the  iron-hearted  horse  Taylor  bestrode.  And  so  Car 
rington  leaned  forward,  trying  to  lighten  the  load,  slap 
ping  the  beast's  neck  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  urging 
him  with  his  voice  —  coaxing  him  to  the  best  endeavors. 
For  Carrington  knew  that  somewhere  in  the  vast  expanse 
of  grass  land  and  spread  before  him  Keats  and  his  men 
must  be.  And  his  only  hope  lay  in  reaching  them  before 
the  avenger,  astride  the  big  horse  that  was  speeding  on 
his  trail  like  a  black  thunderbolt,  could  bring  his  rider 
within  pistol-shot  distance  of  him. 

But  Carrington  had  not  gone  more  than  half  a  mile 
when  he  realized  that  the  race  was  to  be  a  short  one. 
Twice  after  leaving  the  edge  of  the  slope  Carrington 
looked  back.  The  first  time  Spotted  Tail  seemed  to  be 
far  away;  and  the  next  time  the  big,  black  animal  was 
so  close  that  Carrington  cried  out  hoarsely. 

And  then  as  Carrington  felt  the  distance  being  short 
ened —  as  he  felt  the  presence  of  the  black  horse  almost 
at  the  withers  of  his  own  animal  —  heard  the  breathing 
of  the  big  pursuing  beast,  he  knew  that  he  was  not  to 
be  shot. 

Before  he  could  swing  his  own  horse  to  escape,  the 
big,  black  horse  was  beside  his  own,  and  one  of  Taylor's 


302 THE  RANCHMAN 

arms  shot  out,  the  fingers  gripping  the  collar  of  the  big 
man's  coat  Then  with  a  vicious  pull,  swinging  the  black 
horse  wide,  Taylor  jerked  Carrington  out  of  the  saddle, 
so  that  he  fell  sidewise  into  the  deep  grass  —  while  the 
black  horse,  eager  for  a  run,  and  not  immediately  respond 
ing  to  Taylor's  pull  on  the  reins,  ran  some  feet  before  he 
halted  and  wheeled. 

And  when  he  did  finally  face  toward  the  spot  where 
the  big  man  had  been  jerked  from  the  saddle,  it  was  to 
face  a  succession  of  flame-streaks  that  shot  from  the  spot 
where  Carrington  stood  trying  his  best  to  send  into  Taylor 
a  bullet  that  would  put  an  end  to  the  horrible  presentiment 
of  death  that  now  filled  the  big  man's  heart. 

He  emptied  his  pistol  and  saw  the  black  horse  coming 
steadily  toward  him,  its  rider  erect  in  the  saddle,  seem 
ing  not  to  heed  the  savagely  barking  weapon.  And  when 
the  gun  was  empty,  Carrington  threw  it  from  him  and 
began  to  run.  He  ran,  and  with  grim  mockery,  Taylor 
followed  him  a  little  distance  —  followed  him  until  Car 
rington,  exhausted,  his  breath  coming  in  great  cough 
ing  gasps,  could  run  no  farther.  And  then  Taylor 
brought  the  big  black  to  a  halt  near  him,  slid  easily 
out  of  the  saddle,  and  stepped  forward  to  look  into  Car- 
rington's  face,  his  own  stiff  and  set,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  a  passion  that  made  the  other  man  groan  hopelessly. 

"Now,  you  miserable  whelp!"  said  Taylor. 

He  lunged  forward  and  the  bodies  of  the  two  men  made 


RETRIBUTION  303 


a  swaying  blot  out  of  which  came  the  sounds  of  blows, 
bitter  and  savage. 

The  little  broken-nosed  man  laughed  a  little  in  recol 
lection  of  Carrington's  words  about  Martha.  The  big 
man  had  let  him  off  easily,  and  he  was  properly  grateful. 
And  yet  his  gratitude  did  not  prevent  him  from  betraying 
curiosity;  and  he  watched  the  front  of  the  house  for 
Carrington's  reappearance,  wondering  what  he  meant  to 
do  with  the  white  girl,  now  that  he  had  her. 

Still  watching  the  front  porch,  he  saw  Carrington  run 
for  his  horse,  leap  upon  it  and  sink  down  the  side  of  the 
slope. 

The  little  man  then  ran  to  the  front  of  the  house  and, 
concealed  among  the  trees,  watched  the  duel  that  was 
waged  in  the  moonlight.  He  saw  Carrington  break  from 
the  thicket,  mount  his  horse  and  race  out  into  the  plain; 
he  saw  Taylor  —  for  he  had  recognized  him  —  send 
Spotted  Tail  after  Carrington.  But  he  did  not  see  the 
finish  of  the  race,  nor  did  he  see  what  followed.  But 
some  minutes  later  he  saw  a  big,  black  horse  tearing 
toward  him  from  the  spot  where  the  race  had  ended. 
He  muttered  gutturally  and  profanely,  leaped  on  his  horse 
and  sent  it  plunging  down  the  trail  toward  Dawes,  his 
face  ghastly  with  fear. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  WILL  OF  THE  MOB 

FRSONS  had  always  been  an  unemotional  man.  His 
own  character  being  immune  to  the  little  twinging 
impulses  of  humanness  that  grow  to  generous  and 
unselfish  deeds,  he  had  looked  with  derision  upon  all 
persons  who  betrayed  concern  for  their  fellow-men.  And 
so  Parsons  had  lived  apart  from  his  fellows;  he  had 
watched  them  from  across  the  gulf  of  disinterest,  where 
emotion  was  foreign. 

But  tonight  Parsons  was  learning  what  emotion  is. 
Not  from  others,  but  from  himself.  Emotions  —  thou 
sands  of  them  seethed  in  his  brain  and  heart.  He  was 
in  an  advanced  state  of  hysteria  when  he  rode  down  the 
Dawes  trail  with  Marion  Harlan.  For  there  was  the 
huge,  implacable,  ruthless,  and  murderous  Carrington, 
whom  he  had  just  passed  on  the  trail,  to  menace  his  very 
life  —  and  he  knew  that  just  as  soon  as  Carrington 
returned  to  the  big  house  and  found  Marion  gone  and 
the  guard  dead,  he  would  ride  back  to  Dawes,  seeking 
vengeance.  And  Carrington  would  know  it  was  Parsons 
who  had  robbed  him  of  the  girl;  for  Carrington  would 
inquire,  and  would  discover  that  he  had  ridden  into  town 

304 


THE  WILL  OF  THE  MOB 305 

with  Marion.  And  when  Parsons  and  Marion  rode  into 
Dawes  fear,  stark,  abject,  and  naked,  was  in  the  man's 
soul. 

Dawes  was  aflame  with  light  as  the  two  passed  down 
the  street;  and  Parsons  left  the  girl  to  sit  on  her  horse 
in  front  of  a  darkened  store,  while  he  rode  down  the 
street,  peering  into  other  stores,  alight  and  inviting.  He 
hardly  knew  what  he  did  want.  He  knew,  however,  that 
there  was  little  time,  for  at  any  minute  now  Carrington 
might  come  thundering  into  town  on  his  errand  of  ven 
geance  ;  and  whatever  Parsons  did  must  be  done  quickly. 

He  chose  the  second  store  he  came  to.  He  thought  the 
place  was  a  billiard-room  until  he  entered  and  stood  just 
inside  the  door  blinking  at  the  lights;  and  then  he  knew 
it  was  a  saloon,  for  he  saw  the  bar,  the  back-bar  behind 
it,  littered  with  bottles,  and  many  tables  scattered  around. 
More,  there  were  perhaps  a  hundred  men  in  the  place  — 
some  of  them  drinking;  and  at  the  sight  of  them  all, 
realizing  the  mightiness  of  their  number,  Parsons  raised 
his  hands  aloft  and  screamed  frenziedly: 

"  Men !  There's  been  a  crime  committed  tonight  I  At 
the  Huggins  house!  Carrington  did  it!  He  abducted 
my  niece!  I  want  you  men  to  help  me!  Carrington  is 
going  to  kill  me !  And  I  want  you  to  protect  my  niece ! " 

For  an  instant  after  Parsons'  voice  died  in  a  breathless 
gasp,  for  he  blurted  his  story,  the  words  coming  in  a 
stream,  with  hardly  a  pause  between  them ;  there  was  an 


306  THE  RANCHMAN 

odd,  strained  silence.  Then  a  man  far  back  in  the  room 
guffawed  loudly: 

"  Plumb  loco.    Too  much  forty-rod ! " 

There  was  a  half-hearted  gale  of  laughter  at  the  man's 
taunt;  and  then  many  men  were  around  Parsons,  ready 
to  laugh  and  jeer.  And  while  some  of  the  men  peered  at 
Parsons,  cynically  inspecting  him  for  signs  of  drunken 
ness,  several  others  ran  to  the  open  door  and  looked  out 
into  the  street. 

"  There's  somethin'  in  his  yappin',  boys,"  stated  a  man 
•who  returned  from  the  door ;  "  there's  a  gal  out  here,  sure 
enough,  setting  on  a  hoss,  waitin'." 

There  was  a  concerted  rush  outside  to  see  the  girl,  and 
Parsons  was  shoved  and  jostled  until  he,  too,  was  forced 
to  go  out.  And  by  the  time  Parsons  reached  Marion's 
side  she  had  been  questioned  by  the  men.  And  wrathful 
curses  arose  from  the  lips  of  men  around  her. 

"  Didn't  I  know  he  was  that  kind  of  a  skunk ! "  shouted 
a  man  near  Parsons.  "  I  knowed  it  as  soon  as  he  beat 
Taylor  out  of  the  election ! " 

"I'm  for  stringin'  the  scum  up!"  yelled  another  man. 
"This  town  can  git  along  without  guys  that  go  around 
abductin'  wimmen ! " 

There  were  still  other  lurid  and  threatening  comments. 
!A'nd  many  profane  epithets  rose,  burdened  with  menace, 
for  Carrington.  But  the  girl,  humiliated,  weak,  and 
trembling,  did  not  hear  all  of  them.  She  saw  other  men 


THE  WILL  OF  THE  MOB 307 

emerging  from  doorways  —  all  of  them  running  toward 
her  to  join  those  who  had  come  out  of  the  saloon.  And 
then  she  saw  a  woman  coming  toward  her,  the  men  mak 
ing  a  pathway  for  her  —  a  motherly  looking  woman  who, 
when  she  came  near  the  girl,  smiled  up  at  her  sympa 
thetically  and  reached  up  her  hands  to  help  the  girl  out 
of  the  saddle. 

Marion  slipped  down,  and  the  woman's  arms  went 
around  her.  And  with  many  grimly  pitying  glances  from 
the  men  in  the  crowd  about  her,  which  parted  to  permit 
her  to  pass,  she  was  led  into  a  private  dwelling  at  a  little 
distance  down  the  street,  into  a  cozy  room  where  there 
were  signs  of  decency  and  refinement.  The  woman  placed 
the  girl  in  a  chair,  and  stood  beside  her,  smoothing  her 
hair  and  talking  to  her  in  low,  comforting  tones;  while 
outside  a  clamor  rose  and  a  confused  mutter  of  many 
voices  out  of  which  she  began  to  catch  sentences,  such  as : 

"  Let's  fan  it  to  the  big  house  an'  git  him ! " 

"There's  too  many  crooks  in  this  town — let's  run 
'em  out!"  "What  in  hell  did  he  come  here  for?'* 
"Judge  Littlefield  is  just  as  bad  —  he  cheated  Taylor  out 
of  the  election!"  "That's  right,"  answered  another 
voice.  "  Taylor's  our  man ! " 

"They  are  all  wrought  up  over  this,  my  dear,"  said 
the  woman.  "  For  a  long  time  there  has  been  an  under 
current  of  dissatisfaction  over  the  way  they  cheated 
Quinton  Taylor  out  of  the  mayoralty.  I  don't  think  it 


308 THE  RANCHMAN 

was  a  bit  fair.  And,"  she  continued,  "  there  are  other 
things.  They  have  found  out  that  Carrington  is  behind 
a  scheme  to  steal  the  water  rights  from  the  town  —  some 
thing  he  did  to  the  board  of  directors  of  the  irrigation 
company,  I  believe.  And  he  has  had  his  councilmen 
pass  laws  to  widen  some  streets  and  open  new  ones. 
And  the  well-informed  call  it  a  steal,  too.  Mr.  Norton 
has  stirred  up  a  lot  of  sentiment  against  Carrington  and 
Dan  forth,  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  Secretly,  that  is. 
And  there  is  that  murder  charge  against  Quinton  Tay 
lor,"  went  on  the  woman.  "That  is  preposterous! 
Taylor  was  the  best  friend  Larry  Harlan  ever  had ! " 

But  the  girl  turned  her  head,  and  her  lips  quivered, 
for  the  mention  of  Taylor  had  brought  back  to  her  the 
poignant  sense  of  loss  that  she  had  felt  when  she  had 
learned  of  the  charge  against  Taylor.  She  bowed  her 
head  and  wept  silently,  the  woman  trying  again  to  com- 
'fort  her,  while  outside  the  noise  and  tumult  grew  in  vol 
ume  —  threatening  violence. 

By  the  time  Marion  Harlan  had  dropped  into  the  chair 
in  the  room  of  the  house  into  which  the  woman  had 
taken  her,  the  crowd  that  had  collected  in  the  street  was 
packed  and  jammed  against  the  buildings  on  each  side 
of  it. 

Those  who  had  come  late  demanded  to  be  told  what 
had  happened;  and  some  men  lifted  Parsons  to  the  back 
of  his  horse,  and  with  their  hands  on  his  legs,  bracing 


THE  WILL  OF  THE  MOB 309 

him,  Parsons  repeated  the  story  of  what  had  occurred. 
More  —  yielding  to  the  frenzy  that  had  now  taken  pos 
session  of  his  senses,  he  told  of  Carrington's  plotting 
against  the  town ;  of  the  man's  determination  to  loot  and 
steal  everything  he  could  get  his  hands  on.  He  told 
them  of  his  own  culpability;  he  assured  them  he  had 
been  as  guilty  as  Carrington  and  Danforth  —  who  was 
a  mere  tool,  though  as  unscrupulous  as  Carrington.  He 
gave  them  an  account  of  Carrington's  stewardship  of 
his  own  money;  and  he  related  the  story  of  Carrington's 
friendship  with  the  governor,  connecting  Carrington's 
trip  to  the  capital  with  the  stealing  of  the  election  from 
Taylor. 

It  is  the  psychology  of  the  mob  that  it  responds  in 
some  measure  to  the  frenzy  of  the  man  who  agitates  it. 
So  it  was  with  the  great  crowd  that  now  swarmed  the 
wide  street  of  Dawes.  Partisan  feeling — all  differences 
of  opinion  that  in  other  times  would  have  barred  con 
certed  action  —  was  swept  away  by  the  fervent  appeal 
Parsons  made,  and  by  his  complete  and  scathing  revela 
tion  of  the  iniquitous  scheme  to  rob  the  town. 

A  great  sigh  arose  as  Parsons  finished  and  was  drawn 
down,  his  hat  off,  his  hair  ruffled,  his  eyes  gleaming  with 
the  strength  of  the  terrible  frenzy  he  was  laboring  under. 
The  crowd  muttered;  voices  rose  sharply;  there  was  an 
impatient  movement;  a  concerted  stiffening  of  bodies 
and  a  long  pause,  as  of  preparation. 


310 THE  RANCHMAN 

Aroused,  seething  with  passion,  with  a  vindictive  desire 
for  action,  swift  and  ruthless,  the  crowd  waited  —  waited 
for  a  leader.  And  while  the  pause  and  the  mutterings 
continued,  the  leader  came. 

It  was  the  big,  grim-faced  Bothwell,  at  the  head  of 
the  Arrow  outfit.  With  his  horse  in  a  dead  run,  the 
other  horses  of  the  outfit  crowding  him  close,  Bothwell 
brought  his  horse  to  a  sliding  halt  at  the  edge  of  the 
crowd. 

Bothwell's  eyes  were  ablaze  with  the  light  of  battle; 
and  he  stood  in  his  stirrups,  looming  high  above  the  heads 
of  the  men  around  him,  and  shouted : 

"Where's  my  boss  —  Squint  Taylor?"  And  before 
anyone  could  answer  —  "WThere's  that  damned  coyote 
Carrington  ?  Where's  Danf orth  ?  What's  wrong  here  ?  " 

It  was  Parsons  who  answered  him.  Parsons,  again 
clambering  into  the  saddle  from  which  he  had  spoken, 
now  shrieking  shrilly : 

"It's  Carrington's  work!  He  abducted  Marion  Har- 
lan,  my  niece.  He's  a  scoundrel  and  a  thief,  and  he  is 
trying  to  ruin  this  town !  " 

There  was  a  short  silence  as  Parsons  slid  again  to  the 
ground,  and  then  the  man  growled  profanely: 

"Let's  run  the  whole  bunch  out  of  town!  Start  some- 
thin',  Bothwell!" 

Bothwell  laughed,  a  booming  bellow  of  grim  mirth 
that  stirred  the  crowd  to  movement.  "  We've  been  startin' 


THE  WILL  OF  THE  MOB  311 

somethin'!  This  outfit  is  out  for  a  clean-up!  There's 
been  too  much  sneakin'  an'  murderin' ;  an'  too  many  fake 
warrants  flyin'  around,  with  a  bunch  like  them  Keats  guys 
sent  out  to  kill  innocent  men.  Damn  their  hides !  Let's 
get  'em  —  all  of  'em!" 

He  flung  his  horse  around  and  leaped  it  between  the 
other  horses  of  the  Arrow  outfit,  sending  it  straight  to 
the  doors  of  the  city  hall.  Closing  in  behind  him,  the 
other  members  of  the  Arrow  outfit  followed;  and  behind 
them  the  crowd,  now  able  to  center  its  passion  upon  some 
thing  definite,  rushed  forward  —  a  yelling,  muttering,  tur 
bulent  mass  of  men  intent  to  destroy  the  things  which 
the  common  conscience  loathes. 

It  seemed  a  lashing  sea  of  retribution  to  Danforth  and 
Judge  Littlefield,  who  were  in  the  mayor's  office,  a  little 
group  of  their  political  adherents  around  them.  At  the 
first  sign  of  a  disturbance,  Danforth  had  attempted  to 
gather  his  official  forces  with  the  intention  of  preserving 
order.  But  only  these  few  had  responded,  and  they, 
white-faced,  feeling  their  utter  impotence,  were  standing 
in  the  room,  terror-stricken,  when  Bothwell  and  the  men. 
of  the  Arrow  outfit,  with  the  crowd  yelling  behind  them, 
entered  the  door  of  the  office. 

The  little,  broken-nosed  man  had  done  well  to  leave 
the  vicinity  of  the  big  house  before  Taylor  arrived  there. 
For  when  Taylor  emerged  from  the  front  room,  in  which 


312 THE  RANCHMAN 

the  light  still  burned,  his  soul  was  still  in  the  grip  of  a 
lust  to  slay. 

He  was  breathing  fast  when  he  emerged  from  the 
house,  for  what  he  saw  there  had  puzzled  him  —  the 
guard  lying  on  the  floor  and  Marion  gone  —  and  he  stood 
for  an  instant  on  the  porch,  scanning  the  clearing  and 
the  woods  around  the  house  with  blazing  eyes,  his  guns 
in  hand. 

The  silence  around  the  house  was  deep  and  solemn 
now,  and  over  Taylor  stole  a  conviction  that  Carrington 
had  sent  Marion  to  Dawes  in  charge  of  some  of  his 
men;  having  divined  that  he  would  come  for  her.  But 
Taylor  did  not  act  upon  the  conviction  instantly.  He  ran 
to  the  stable,  stormed  through  it  —  and  the  other  build 
ings  in  the  cluster  around  the  ranchhouse;  and  finding 
no  trace  of  men  or  girl,  he  at  last  leaped  on  Spotted  Tail 
and  sent  him  thundering  over  the  trail  toward  Dawes. 

When  he  arrived  in  town  a  swaying,  shouting,  shoot 
ing  mob  jammed  the  streets.  He  brought  his  horse  to  a 
halt  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  that  packed  the  street  in 
front  of  the  city  hall,  and  demanded  to  know  what  was 
wrong. 

The  man  shouted  at  him : 

"  Hell's  to  pay !  Carrington  abducted  Marion  Harlan, 
an'  that  little  guy  —  Parsons  —  rescued  her.  An'  Par 
sons  made  a  speech,  tellin'  folks  what  Carrington  an' 
Dan  forth  an'  all  the  rest  of  the  sneakin'  coyotes  have 


THE  WILL  OF  THE  MOB 313 

done,  an'  we're  runnin'  the  scum  out  of  town!"  And 
then,  before  Taylor  could  ask  about  the  girl,  the  man 
raised  his  voice  to  a  shrill  yell : 

"It's  Squint  Taylor,  boys!  Squint  Taylor!  Stand 
back  an'  let  ol'  Squint  take  a  hand  in  this  here  deal!" 

There  was  a  wild,  concerted  screech  of  joy.  It  rose 
like  the  shrieking  of  a  gale;  it  broke  against  the  build 
ings  that  fringed  the  street ;  it  echoed  and  reechoed  with 
terrific  resonance  back  and  forth  over  the  heads  of  the 
men  in  the  crowd.  It  penetrated  into  the  cozy  room  of 
a  private  dwelling,  where  sat  a  girl  who  started  at  the 
sound  and  sat  erect,  her  face  paling,  her  eyes,  glowing 
with  a  light  that  made  the  motherly  looking  woman  say; 
to  her,  softly: 

"Ah,  then  you  do  believe  in  him,  my  dear ! " 

It  was  when  the  noise  and  the  tumult  had  subsided  that 
Taylor  went  to  her.  For  he  had  been  told  where  he 
might  find  her  by  men  who  smiled  sympathetically  at  his 
back  as  he  walked  down  the  street  toward  the  private 
dwelling. 

She  was  at  the  door  as  soon  as  he,  for  she  had  been 
watching  from  one  of  the  front  windows,  and  had  seen 
him  come  toward  the  house. 

And  when  the  motherly  looking  woman  saw  them  in 
each  other's  arms,  the  moon  and  the  light  from  within 
the  house  revealing  them  to  her,  and  to  the  men  in  the 


314 THE  RANCHMAN 

crowd  who  watched  from  the  street,  she  smiled  gently. 
What  the  two  said  to  each  other  will  never  be  known,  for 
their  words  were  drowned  in  the  cheer  that  rose  from 
hoarse-voiced  men  who  knew  that  words  are  sometimes 
futile  and  unnecessary. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

TRIUMPH  AT  LAST 

A  MONTH  later,  Taylor  walked  to  the  front  door 
of  the  Arrow  ranchhouse  and  stood  on  the  threshold 
looking  out  over  the  great  sweep  of  green-brown  plain 
that  reached  eastward  to  Dawes. 

A  change  had  come  over  Taylor.  His  eyes  had  a 
gentler  light  in  them  —  as  though  they  had  seen  things 
that  had  taken  the  edge  off  his  sterner  side;  and  there 
was  an  atmosphere  about  him  that  created  the  impression 
that  his  thoughts  were  at  this  moment  far  from  violence. 

"Mr.  Taylor!"  said  a  voice  behind  him  —  from  the 
front  room.  There  had  been  an  undoubted  accent  on 
the  "Mr."  And  the  voice  was  one  that  Taylor  knew 
well;  the  sound  of  it  deepened  the  gentle  gleam  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Mrs.  Taylor,"  he  answered,  imparting  to  the  "Mrs." 
exactly  the  emphasis  the  voice  had  placed  on  the  other. 

There  was  a  laugh  behind  him,  and  then  the  voice 
again,  slightly  reproachful :  "  Oh,  that  sounds  so  awfully 
formal,  Squint!" 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  started  it." 

"I  like  *  Squint'  better,"  said  the  voice. 

315 


316     THE  RANCHMAN 

"I'm  hoping  you  keep  on  liking  Squint  all  the  days 
of  your  life,"  he  returned. 

"  I  was  speaking  of  names,"  declared  the  voice. 

"  Doan'  yo'  let  her  fool  yo',  Mr.  Squint ! "  came  another 
voice,  "  fo'  she  think  a  heap  mo'  of  you  than  she  think 
of  yo'  name  \ " 

"Martha!"  said  the  first  voice  in  laughing  reproof, 
"  I  vow  I  shall  send  you  away  some  day ! " 

And  then  there  was  a  clumping  step  on  the  floor,  and 
Martha's  voice  reached  the  door  as  she  went  out  of  the 
house  through  the  kitchen : 

"I's  goin'  to  the  bunkhouse  to  expostulate  wif  that 
lazy  Bud  Hemmingway.  He  tole  me  this  mawnin'  he's 
gwine  feed  them  hawgs  —  an'  he  ain't  done  it ! " 

And  then  Mrs.  Taylor  appeared  at  the  door  and  placed 
an  arm  around  her  husband's  neck,  drawing  his  head  over 
to  her  and  kissing  him. 

She  looked  much  like  the  Marion  Harlan  who  had  left 
the  Arrow  on  a  night  about  a  month  before,  though  there 
was  a  more  eloquent  light  in  her  eyes,  and  a  tenderness 
had  come  over  her  that  made  her  whole  being  radiate. 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  get  ready  to  go  to 
Dawes,  dear?"  she  suggested. 

"  I  like  that  better  than  '  Squint '  even,"  he  grinned. 

For  a  long  time  they  stood  in  the  doorway  very  close 
together.  And  then  Airs.  Taylor  looked  up  with  grave 
eyes  at  her  husband. 


TRIUMPH  AT  LAST 317 

"  Won't  you  please  let  me  look  at  all  of  father's  note 
to  you,  Squint?"  she  asked. 

"That  can't  be  done,"  he  grinned  at  her.  "For,"  he 
added,  "  that  day  after  I  let  you  read  part  of  it  I  burnt 
it.  It's  gone  —  like  a  lot  of  other  things  that  are  not 
needed  now ! " 

"But  what  did  it  say — that  part  that  you  wouldn't 
let  me  read  ?  "  she  insisted. 

"It  said,"  he  quoted,  "'I  want  you  to  marry  her, 
Squint.'  And  I  have  done  so  —  haven't  I?' 

"Was  that  all?"  she  persisted. 

"  I'd  call  that  plenty ! "  he  laughed. 

"  Well,"  she  sighed,  "  I  suppose  that  will  have  to  be 
sufficient.  But  get  ready,  dear;  they  will  be  waiting  for 
you!"  She  left  him  and  went  into  a  room,  from  where 
she  called  back  to  him:  "It  won't  take  me  long  to 
dress."  And  then,  after  an  interval:  "Where  do  you 
suppose  Uncle  Elam  went  ?  " 

He  scowled  out  of  the  doorway;  then  turned  and 
smiled.  "He  didn't  say.  And  he  lost  no  time  saying 
farewell  to  Dawes,  once  he  got  his  hands  on  the  money 
Carrington  left."  Taylor's  smile  became  a  laugh,  low  and 
full  of  amusement. 

Shortly  Mrs.  Taylor  appeared,  attired  in  a  neat  riding- 
habit,  and  Taylor  donned  coat  and  hat,  and  they  went  arm 
in  arm  to  the  corral  gate,  where  their  horses  were  stand 
ing,  having  been  roped,  saddled,  and  bridled  by  the 


318 THE  RANCHMAN 

"  lazy  "  Bud  Hemmingway,  who  stood  outside  the  bunk- 
house  grinning  at  them. 

"Well,  good  luck!"  Bud  called  after  them  as  they 
rode  toward  Dawes. 

Lingering  much  on  the  way,  and  stopping  at  the  Mul- 
larky  cabin,  they  finally  reached  the  edge  of  town  and 
were  met  by  Neil  Norton,  who  grinned  widely  when  he 
greeted  them. 

Norton  waved  a  hand  at  Dawes.  TKs  in  another  time, 
Dawes  was  arrayed  in  holiday  attire,  swathed  in  a  riot 
of  color  —  starry  bunting,  flags,  and  streamers,  with  hun 
dreds  of  Japanese  lanterns  suspended  festoonlike  across 
the  streets.  And  now,  as  Taylor  and  the  blushing,  moist- 
eyed  woman  at  his  side  rode  down  the  street,  a  band  on 
a  platform  near  the  station  burst  into  music,  its  brazen- 
tongued  instruments  drowning  the  sound  of  cheering. 

"  We  got  that  from  Lazette,"  grinned  Norton.  "  We 
had  to  have  some  noise !  As  I  told  you  the  other  day," 
he  went  on,  speaking  loudly,  so  that  Taylor  could  hear 
him  above  the  tumult,  "it  is  all  fixed  up.  Judge  Little- 
field  stayed  on  the  job  here,  because  he  promised  to  be 
good.  He  hadn't  really  done  anything,  you  know.  And 
after  we  made  Danforth  and  the  five  councilmen  resign 
that  night,  and  saw  them  aboard  the  east-bound  the  next 
morning,  we  made  Littlefield  wire  the  governor  about 
what  had  happened.  Littlefield  went  to  the  capital 
shortly  afterward  and  told  the  governor  some  things  that 


TRIUMPH  AT  LAST 319 

astonished  him.  'And  the  governor  appointed  you  to  fill 
Danforth's  unexpired  term.  But,  of  course,  that  was 
only  an  easy  way  for  the  governor  to  surrender.  So 
everything  is  lovely." 

Norton  paused,  out  of  breath. 

And  Taylor  smiled  at  his  wife.  "Yes,"  he  said,  as 
he  took  her  arm,  "  this  is  a  mighty  good  little  old  world  — 
if  you  treat  it  right." 

"And  if  you  stay  faithful,"  added  the  moist-eyed 
woman. 

"And  if  you  fall  in  love,"  supplemented  Taylor. 

"And  when  the  people  of  a  town  want  to  honor  you," 
added  Norton  significantly. 

And  then,  arm  in  arm,  followed  by  Norton,  Taylor  and 
his  wife  rode  forward,  their  horses  close  together,  toward 
the  great  crowd  of  people  that  jammed  the  street  around 
the  band-stand,  their  voices  now  raised  above  the  music 
that  blared  forth  from  the  brazen  instruments. 


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TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan'  s  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in 
his  search  for  vengeance  on  those  who  took  from  him  his 
wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan 
proves  his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  succession 
of  the  weirdest  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 
John  Carter,  American,  finds  himself  on  the  planet  Mars, 
battling  for  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  Green  Men  ol 
Mars,  terrible  creatures  fifteen  feet  high,  mounted  on 
horses  like  dragons. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

Continuing  John  Carter' s  adventures  on  the  Planet  Mars, 
in  which  he  does  battle  against  the  ferocious  "plant  men," 
creatures  whose  mighty  tails  swished  their  victims  to  instant 
death,  and  defies  Issus,  the  terrible  Goddess  of  Death, 
whom  all  Mars  worships  and  reveres. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  the  two  other  stories,  reap 
pear,  Tars  Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others.  There  is  a 
happy  ending  to  the  story  in  the  union  of  the  Warlord, 
the  title  conferred  upon  John  Carter,  with  Dejah  Thoris. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

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THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 

THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT; 

THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 

WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THK  DESERT 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 


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DESERT  GOLD 
BETTY  ZANE 

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THE  SHORT  STOP 

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BASEBALL  STORIES 

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STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE 

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THE  RIVER'S  IND~ 

A  story  of  the  Royal  Mounted  Police. 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Thrilling  adventures  in  the  Far  Northland. 
NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  a  bear-cub  and  a  dog. 
KAZAN 

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between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 

BAREE,  SON  OF  KAZAN 

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THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

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THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

A  tale  of  love,  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystery  of  the  Nort^ 
THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

A  tale  of  a  great  fight  in  the  "  valley  of  gold"  for  a  woman. 
THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  Fort  o*  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  the  wilderness 
is  blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly. 
ISOBEL 

A  love  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

The  story  of  adventure  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 

Filled  with  exciting  incidents  in  the  land  of  strong  men  and  women. , 
BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

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THE  WHITE  LADIES  OF  WORCESTER 

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had  lost  her  lover,  enters  a  convent.  He  returns,  and  in 
teresting  developments  follow. 

THE  UPAS  TREE 

A  love  story  of  rare  charm.  It  deals  with  a  successful 
author  and  his  wife. 

THROUGH  THE  POSTERN  GATE 

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convincing  demonstration  of  abiding  love. 

THE  ROSARY 

The  story  of  a  young  artist  who  is  reputed  to  love  beauty 
above  all  else  in  the  world,  but  who,  when  blinded  through 
an  accident,  gains  life's  greatest  happiness.  A  rare  story 
of  the  great  passion  of  two  real  people  superbly  capable  of 
love,  its  sacrifices  and  its  exceeding  reward. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  SHENSTONE 

The  lovely  young  Lady  Ingleby,  recently  widowed  by  the 
death  of  a  husband  who  never  understood  her,  meets  a  fine, 
clean  young  chap  who  is  ignorant  of  her  title  and  they  fall 
deeply  in  love  with  each  other.  When  he  learns  her  real 
identity  a  situation  of  singular  power  is  developed. 

THE  BROKEN  HALO 

The  story  of  a  young  man  whose  religious  belief  was 
shattered  in  childhood  and  restored  to  him  by  the  little 
white  lady,  many  years  older  than  himself,  to  whom  he  is 
passionately  devoted. 

THE  FOLLOWING  OF  THE  STAR 

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Africa,  marries  wealthy  Diana  Rivers,  in  order  to  help  her 
fulfill  the  conditions  of  her  uncle's  will,  and  how  they  finally 
come  to  love  each  other  and  are  reunited  after  experiences 
that  soften  and  purify. 

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THE  LAMP  IN  THE  DESERT 

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tells  of  the  lamp  of  love  that  continues  to  shine  through 
all  sorts  of  tribulations  to  final  happiness. 

'  GREATHEART 

The  story  of  a  cripple  whose  deformed  body  conceals 
a  noble  soul. 

THE  HUNDREDTH  CHANCE 

A  hero  who  worked  to  win  even  when  there  was  only 
"  a  hundredth  chance." 

THE  SWINDLER 

The  story  of  a  "bad  man's"  soul  revealed  by  a 
woman's  faith. 

THE  TIDAL  WAVE 

Tales  of  love  and  of  women  who  learned  to  knovr  the 
true  from  the  false. 

THE   SAFETY  CURTAIN 

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contains  four  other  long  stories  of  equal  interest. 

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"STORM  COUNTRY"  BOOKS  BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

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JUDY  OF  ROGUES'  HARBOR 

Judy's  untutored  ideas  of  God,  her  love  of  wild  things, 
her  faith  in  life  are  quite  as  inspiring  as  those  of  Tess. 
Her  faith  and  sincerity  catch  at  your  heart  strings.  This 
book  has  all  of  the  mystery  and  tense  action  of  the  other 
Storm  Country  books. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

tl  It  was  as  Tess,  beautiful,  wild,  impetuous,  that  Mary 
Pickford  made  her  reputation  as  a  motion  picture  actress. 
How  love  acts  upon  a  temperament  such  as  hers — a  tem 
perament  that  makes  a  woman  an  angel  or  an  outcast,  ac 
cording  to  the  character  of  the  man  she  loves — is  the 
theme  of  the  story. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

The  sequel  to  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,"  with  the 
same  wild  background,  with  its  half-gypsy  life  of  the  squat 
ters — tempestuous,  passionate,  brooding.  Tess  learns  the 
"  secret "  of  her  birth  and  finds  happiness  and  love  through 
her  boundless  faith  in  life. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING 

A  haunting  story  with  its  scene  laid  near  the  country 
familiar  to  readers  of  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country." 

ROSE  O'  PARADISE  ' 

"  Jinny"  Singleton,  wild,  lovely,  lonely,  but  with  a  pas 
sionate  yearning  for  music,  grows  up  in  the  house  of  Lafe 
Grandoken,  a  crippled  cobbler  of  the  Storm  Country.  Her 
romance  is  full  of  power  and  glory  and  tenderness. 

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BOOTH     TARKINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

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SEVENTEEN.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  but  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.  Its  humor  is  irre 
sistible  and  reminiscent  of  the  time  when  the  reader  was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    Illustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu 
morous,  tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
stories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    Illustrated  by  G.  E.  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re 
volts  against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love  of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  life  in  Indiana,  but  the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

THE  FLIRT.    Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Flirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl'a 
fcngagement,  drives  one  man  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  in  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

.  "    "   =1 

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KATHLEEN   NORRIS*  STORIES 

! 

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SISTERS.  Frontispiece  by  Frank  Street. 

The  California   Redwoods   furnish   the   background  for  this 
( beautiful  story  of  sisterly  devotion  and  sacrifice. 

POOR.  DEAR.  MARGARET  KIRBY. 
Frontispiece  by  George  Gibbs. 

A  collection  of  delightful  stories,  including  "Bridging  the 
Years"  and  "The  Tide-Marsh."  This  story  is  now  shown  in 
moving  pictures. 

JOSSELYN'S  WIFE.  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

The  story  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  fought  a  bitter  fight  for 
happiness  and  love. 

MARTIE,  THE  UNCONQUERED. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 
The  triumph  of  a  dauntless  spirit  over  adverse  conditions. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 
Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

An  interesting  story  of  divorce  and  the  problems  that  come 
with  a  second  marriage. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE. 
Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

A  sympathetic  portrayal  of  the  quest  of  a  normal  girl,  obscure 
and  lonely,  for  the  happiness  of  life. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD.    Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Cootes. 

,  Can  a  girl,  born  in  rather  sordid  conditions,  lift  herself  through 
•heer  determination  to  the  better  things  for  which  her  soul 
hungered  ? 

'    ••   X 
MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

A  story  of  the  big  mother  heart  that  beats  in  the  background 
of  every  girl's  life,  and  some  dreams  which  came  true. 

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